


please look good with me

by catcatcatcatcat



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of Sex, a lot of misunderstandings and Buffoon behavior from youngjo, and especially mingi, im SO SORRY MINGI, im so sorry to geonhak, literally 1 sentence of yunho/mingi, poor fucking mingi, slight mingi/hwanwoong, some romcom bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcatcatcatcat/pseuds/catcatcatcatcat
Summary: The problem with being best friends with Hwanwoong is that, somewhere along the way at a moment he can’t quite pin down, Youngjo accidentally fell in love. (Kim Youngjo is, among other things, an idiot when it comes to wooing Yeo Hwanwoong.)
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 50
Kudos: 208





	1. tomorrow, look good with me

**Author's Note:**

> i'm rly excited to finally put this out here bc im the slowest writer on earth and literally nvr thought this would see the light of day. i hope you enjoy it! you can find me on twit @ sapphichwa if you are 18+ :3
> 
> p.s. i am sorry ahead of time before making mingi the resident oblivious doof here i just rly needed a silly guy and accidentally wrote mingi first SO im sorry to him <3 we all can take comfort in knowing irl he's smart and wonderful and brilliant and our talented deep voice of ateez!!!

_ tomorrow, look good with me  _

_ please look good with me  _

_ one day, let’s look good together _

_ please look good with me _

_ it looks good on you _

_ we would look good there _

_ i look good with you _

_ so now come and look good with me _

her - mino

  
  
  


The problem with being best friends with Hwanwoong is that, somewhere along the way at a moment he can’t quite pin down, Youngjo accidentally fell in love. Sort of a little  _ oops _ , a trip over the crack, a stumble down the side of a hill that accidentally turns into a full launch off a cliffside. He doesn’t know which smile it was that sealed the deal, which of the times Hwanwoong had draped his tiny frame into Youngjo’s arms affectionately like he belonged in the warm space against his chest or which times Hwanwoong had yanked at his hand and tightened their fingers together to drag him somewhere and it’d started making Youngjo’s breath catch in his throat. He knows that it wasn’t like this before, especially when they met -- Hwanwoong throwing himself into the chair next to Youngjo ten minutes late for the first literature class of the semester, hair matted with sweat. He’d tossed his gym bag on top of Youngjo’s Kanken backpack and turning those wide eyes up to him, looking every bit the hapless freshman as he asked to borrow a pen. It’d taken a few kittenish blinks up at him for Youngjo’s annoyance to melt into pity (he'd been the same way as a freshman last year, haphazardly pinging around from class to club to event without a sense of purpose or time) and sacrifice the last workable pen in his bag to help him.

Hwanwoong had bought him coffee afterwards, a sign of good will, talking breathlessly about how he’d joined the dance team and didn’t realize the literature building was  _ so _ far from the gym and, by the way, he was Yeo Hwanwoong and what was his name? It took Youngjo an entire week to realize that he’d acquired Hwanwoong as a friend, figuring it out the moment that Hwanwoong flopped in the chair by him during the next class and gave him a toothy smile, a bright  _ hi Youngjo hyung _ . Maybe it’d been foreshadowing to now, that feeling of always being one step behind Hwanwoong while Hwanwoong had no idea he was miles ahead. By the time Youngjo had begun to realize that Hwanwoong was his best friend, they’d already swapped keys to each other’s dorms and memorized class schedules to maximize their breaks and spent weekends sprawled on Youngjo’s shedding rug, scratching up paper outlines for class and ordering chicken delivery. And it’d taken another whole year to figure out that he was in love with Hwanwoong, a whole year too late to take a step back and collect his feelings and not go into cardiac arrest each time Hwanwoong curled into his side while they watched television, cheek pressed to Youngjo’s thigh ( _ You’re like a heater, hyung, I could nap on you all day _ and Youngjo had just had to swallow down a frantic coughing fit that his anxiety had manifested in.).

“You’re lucky Hwanwoong wouldn’t notice a wall if he walked into it.” Geonhak mutters, tying his apron strings behind his back. Youngjo blinks, only half-registering it as he watches Hwanwoong trot away to his next class, clutching a hot chocolate that Youngjo had snuck across the counter when his manager wasn’t looking.

“What?” He flicks his head around, typing in the wrong employee ID around three times on the register before Geonhak reaches over and does it for him. “Sorry.”

“Those awful gooey eyes you always give him. It’s disgusting.” He nudges Youngjo out of the way, a silent way of saying he’ll be on register today. “The fact that he hasn’t figured out you want to stick your tongue down his throat is incredible.”

Youngjo flushes, feels it hot in his neck as he pivots around to pretend he’s busy brewing more iced coffee even though they have two pitchers already prepared in the fridge. They’re at the end of their morning rush and fall into an easy, familiar pattern of calling out orders -- heating pastries in the toaster oven, pouring out careful measurements of sugar and cream, scribbling names and numbers on paper cups. It’s soothing enough that Youngjo tricks himself into believing that Geonhak has forgotten the whole thing,  _ gooey eyes _ erased by repeated iced Americano requests.

“You know, you’re being suspiciously avoidant of this whole situation.” Geonhak huffs, stretching toned arms above his head in a way that Youngjo suspects is just showing off for the freshman in the back. They blink at each other before Youngjo raises the pitcher of kiwi concentrate in his hand.

“Avoidant of the juice?” Youngjo asks meekly enough that he hopes Geonhak will take pity on him.

“Avoidant of just telling Hwanwoong you like him. What’s the worst that can happen?” Youngjo doesn’t answer, focused on ignoring the question and filling the rest of the pitcher with water to mix. “Are you pretending I’m not here? I’m literally standing in front of you.”

“There’s no situation in the first place.” Youngjo waves a hand in the air, nearly swearing when he almost drops the entire thing of juice. “It’s just a little  _ thing _ that will go away after a while. I was never going to act on it in the first place”

“You’ve been telling yourself it’ll go away for, like, the last five months. You literally drank yourself into a coma when you saw him flirting with that guy at Harin’s Halloween party.” The bell rings over the door and they both flick their heads with a practiced  _ welcome to oneus _ before Geonhak narrows his eyes back at him in laser focus. “Your avoidance is bordering on delusion.”

He’s never been more grateful for the wave of students that arrive after their 10am ends, even though the pinch of Geonhak’s mouth that says  _ we’ll talk about it later _ lingers as he’s taking orders. His friends have been on him like this ever since a few months ago, when Youngjo had made the mistake of looking a little too befuddled and head over heels while fixing a piece of Hwanwoong’s hair in front of Keonhee. It’d only taken an hour for Keonhee to put together a group chat without Hwanwoong, relaying the entire story with generous amounts of vomiting emojis and prompting Youngjo’s phone to blow up with messages like  _ i knew it u nasty bitch _ and  _ so when’s the first date _ . He’s actually astounded that the only person still in the dark is Hwanwoong but Geonhak wasn’t off the mark when he implied that Hwanwoong could probably get hit by a car and never realize it, optimistically oblivious to everything in his life.

“Just rip it off like a bandaid and tell him. He’s never told me anything but like -- he’s literally attached to your hip like a leech, that must mean something, right?” Geonhak shoulders next to him, slipping a ham and cheese sandwich into the toaster oven and cranking the temperature without looking. “Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t like you back. It’s fine, you move on.”

“It’s not fine. Wouldn’t you find it weird to hang around somebody and be all touchy feely after they said they liked you and you didn’t like them back?” Youngjo mutters, splashes too much cream into an iced latte and ends up just pouring it down the sink in frustration. “Listen, I get you’re all trying to help but unless I hear it straight from him, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

“Maybe you just need to be a little bit more  _ obvious _ . He’s the most affectionate person I know so hugging, skinship -- that’s all normal for him. You should figure out his idea of flirting, you know? He must treat his boyfriends differently than his regular friends.” Geonhak has that hoighty, eyebrows-raised expression he gets when he thinks he’s earned a Nobel Prize for his idea. Youngjo meets it cold-eyed in return, cocking his head towards the oven.

“Sandwich is burning.”

“ _ Christ _ .” Geonhak yells, his voice going up an octave, floundering with oven mitts to remove a once ham and cheese sandwich that now resembles charcoal and tossing it in the sink. Youngjo exhales sharply through his nose, turning back towards the register and slapping on his most practiced customer service smile.

“Sorry, there might be a delay on your sandwich.”

\------

When Youngjo gets home from work that night, Hwanwoong’s shoes are already inside the door, a pair of scuffed white Keds that looks too domestic next to his own tattered sneakers. Not that his brain needs to be running through scenarios of domesticity between the two of them, especially before he’s about to see Hwanwoong face to face, but his mind has a way of constantly trying to sabotage him like rogue artificial intelligence. As usual, Hwanwoong is sprawled across his comforter like he owns the bed, round glasses perched on the top of his nose and gnawing on the cap of a pen that’s left a smear of ink near his chin. He doesn’t look up when Youngjo walks in, dumping his backpack next to his desk, but Sunny does, letting out a bark so everybody knows his nap has been interrupted.

“Shush.” Youngjo mutters, scratching behind Sunny’s ear and falling back on the edge of his bed, peering over Hwanwoong’s shoulder. “Calculus? It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“They tell you all through grade school that you’ll get to study what you love in university.” Hwanwoong lets the pen drop from his mouth, rolling onto his back and giving Youngjo a look like a wounded animal. “And guess what? I pay tuition to be forced into taking more math classes. I’m a  _ dance _ major.”

Youngjo laughs, licks his thumb to scrub at the pen mark on his face and pretending he can’t see where his best friend’s sweater has ridden up, that tiny strip of soft stomach peeking out. Hwanwoong’s nose crinkles in disgust, nipping at Youngjo’s fingers before sitting up, tumbling back against his chest with a heavy sigh. “It’s just  _ kinda _ fucked up, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” Youngjo nods, ruffling the careful part of Hwanwoong’s blonde hair, always smelling like the cheap apple shampoo he buys at the convenience store. It’s one of his favorite things about Hwanwoong, how he either smells like soap and sweat and floor polish after dance practice or cloyingly sweet after a shower. He’s lucky that Sunny wakes up with a chirping yawn, flopping into his lap pathetically, or else he might have just nosed at Hwanwoong’s neck in a way that couldn’t possibly be played off as platonic.

“He’s being dramatic.” Hwanwoong points the pen at Sunny, whose lips curl up in a mock growl. “I walked him when I got here. Don’t buy into his whole tortured act.”

“Who do I believe, my beloved dog or Yeo Hwanwoong?” Youngjo falls back on his pillows, Sunny tip-tapping excitedly over his chest. “Sunny has never lied to me.”

“Because Sunny can’t speak.” Hwanwoong whines, tossing himself back onto Youngjo and knocking the air out of both of them. “I’m much cuter. Would this face lie to you?”

Over the last few months, Youngjo has acquired an astounding amount of self control to the point where he only  _ almost _ gives into curling his fingers around the back of Hwanwoong’s head and tugging him in for a kiss. Instead, he just lies there looking dopey and out of breath until Hwanwoong looks vaguely concerned that he might have crushed all the lung power out of his best friend. Youngjo traps him in his arms, squeezing hard until Hwanwoong wiggles out of his grip with a wail. “You’re right, you’re much cuter. Don’t tell Sunny though.”

“At least you don’t treat Sunny like your own personal squeaky toy.” Hwanwoong rubs his arms where Youngjo had been latched around him, sticking out his tongue for a few seconds before a little wrinkle forms between his brows. “Dude, this is like the fifth time you’ve spaced out on me today. Are you okay?”

He’s really got to be more subtle about this whole staring at Hwanwoong thing or else even Hwanwoong’s one track mind is going to catch on soon enough. Youngjo scoops Sunny up, plops him on the ground next to a pile of dirty pajamas and stretches out in a flippant little  _ no worries _ gesture. “Just a bit tired with work and classes and shit.”

“Or are you worried about your crush?” Hwanwoong’s eyes narrow and suddenly, Youngjo is thinking about how he could probably tuck and roll straight out the window with minimal injury. “I heard Keonhee and Dongju talking about how you’re all stressed out about your crush so I asked who because  _ what the hell _ ? You never told me you had a crush on anybody. And then they tell me it’s that guy in our literature class? Mingi?”

“They said  _ what _ ?” Youngjo tries to process seventy thoughts at one time and also Sunny who is gnawing impatiently at his ankle, and now Hwanwoong who is staring at him like he’s just found out Youngjo had committed a federal crime. Leave it to Keonhee and Dongju to not only set fire to something but blow up the entire building in the process. “Mingi? Song Mingi?”

“You don’t know which Mingi you have a crush on?”

“No, I’m just surprised they told you.” Surprised that they’ve managed to fuck up his entire life so badly in such a short amount of time but nonetheless. “Mingi from our Lit class. That’s him.”

“Huh, I didn’t think tall and sexy was your type.” He grins, eyebrows lifted and Youngjo just wants to shake him by his shoulders to say  _ no _ , his type is very much cute and small and Yeo Hwanwoong. “So? Like, have you talked to him at all outside of class?”

“Well, I’ve never talked to him. At all.” It’s not exactly untrue-- he’s had no reason to talk to Mingi, who sits three rows down and is usually either watching episodes of  _ Show Me the Money _ on his phone or passed out over a textbook. They did speak to each other in the second week of classes, but only because Mingi had been ten  _ won _ short for a can of coffee at the vending machine and Youngjo figured he must have looked like an easy target for money (Mingi had been correct). 

Hwanwoong looks incredulous as if Youngjo couldn’t possibly have said anything more pitiable. “You haven’t even talked to him? What, do you need like… flirting tips or something?”

“Yes.” He blurts it out faster than he can stop himself and he knows this is a bad, bad idea, especially because it came from Geonhak who is a well-known fountain of awful schemes. “I’ve heard he’s really affectionate with all his friends so like-- I’m worried if I try to show him I’m interested, it’ll just seem normal.”

“Huh, he totally doesn’t come off as the cuddly skinship type.” Which is probably true but Youngjo isn’t about to tell him he made it up. “Don’t worry, though -- not to brag but I’ve gotten plenty of guys who are like that. I could help you, if you wanted.”

“That’d be great.” Youngjo says, jaw so tensed in a fake smile that his teeth might snap.

Embarrassing doesn’t even begin to cover it. Embarrassing is not only asking your best friend for flirting tips, it’s doing it under the guise to woo some guy you’ve never talked to in class when in reality, you just wanted to ask out your actual best friend the whole time. Embarrassing is running through those mental gymnastics and then still making the decision to commit to the scheme, giving Hwanwoong his most strained  _ please help me _ expression that probably looks more like he stepped on a thumbtack. Embarrassing is Hwanwoong peering up at him through his lashes, that pretty and believing thing he does, before he sets his palms down in determination.

“That’s it, then. Kim Youngjo, we’re going to get you your man.” Hwanwoong aims a finger gun at him, shooting with a puff of air. “Mingi won’t know what hit him.”

Given that Youngjo has no idea what’s just hit him, he can’t imagine what’s about to happen to poor, hapless Song Mingi.

\----

“I’m going to kill you both.” Youngjo says calmly, slamming his tray of food on the table in front of Keonhee and Dongju. “Any last wishes?”   
  


“We didn’t do anything!” Keonhee yelps at the same time that Dongju mutters, “I’d like to see you try,” without looking up from his game of Animal Crossing.

“You told Hwanwoong I had a crush on Mingi? Song Mingi from Literature? Mingi who I’ve never even talked to?” His anger is already fizzling out into a sense of absolute hopelessness, flopping forward to bury his face into his hands. “You’ve ruined my life.”

“I didn’t know he was there! We were cleaning up the dance room and Dongju was talking about how you were making some gross lovey-dovey face at Hwanwoong when we all went to see that movie and how much of a coward you are and-- what? You are a coward.” Keonhee pauses, waving off Youngjo’s grimace with a roll of his eyes. “And that you should just tell him you have a crush. Except I didn’t know Hwanwoong came back to get his water bottle and then he was all like  _ Youngjo has a crush _ ? And what was I supposed to do, say like  _ yeah, on you _ ? So I just--”

“So you just told him I had a crush on some random guy?”

“Mingi’s not a random guy, he’s in my dance course.” Dongju finishes placing a chair shaped like a frog into his Animal Crossing home. “We could have done a lot worse for you in terms of men.”

“You could have just said he’d heard  _ wrong _ and moved on from the subject.” 

“Well, it’s too late for that. I don’t work well under pressure.” There’s a short huff from Keonhee, as if this whole thing is really just Youngjo’s fault, which it really could be since every bad thing that happens to him just seems to be the result of his shit luck. “Besides, just wait a few weeks and then give him some shit like you got to know him and he's super boring and now you're over your crush. Then you can go back to your whole lovesick thing again.”

Youngjo gives him the blankest stare he can muster before Keonhee leaves forward on his elbows, head tilted curiously. “Unless you did something to mess this up even more.”

“Well,” he fiddles with the handle of his soup spoon, “I may have asked him for flirting tips pretending they were for Mingi but mostly so I could figure out how to flirt with  _ him _ .”

“Oh my god?” Dongju spits the mouthful of water he’s just drank back into the cup.

“Oh my god.” Keonhee sounds on the brink of hysterics. “That’s some Geonhak-level idiocy.”

Youngjo clears his throat. “Well, actually it was Geonhak’s idea.”

“And you actually listened to it.” Dongju wheezes. “Incredible.”

There’d been a hapless part of Youngjo that had hoped everything, in some strange karmic circumstances, would just sort of get brushed under the rug. That if he never brought it up again and conveniently always looked in the opposite direction of Mingi in class, Hwanwoong’s mind would latch onto the next interesting thing and completely forget he was supposed to be on some sort of wingman mission. It’d been complete wishful thinking, given that Hwanwoong was unfortunately the most loyal friend on Earth and had already texted Youngjo at least five times that day ( _ i saw ur boy at 7-11!!!!!!!!!! cute smile. ur right, he’s rly touchy with his friends?? but we got this!!!!!!!!! wait do u want peach or watermelon gummies _ ). There’s nothing much he can do at this point besides tell Hwanwoong he wants peach, please, and prepare himself for the next few weeks of hell.

“I mean, there’s always a chance this could work out.” Keonhee reaches across the table to steal a slice of marinated egg from Youngjo’s plate. “Say what you want but Geonhak somehow always gets the boy he wants.”

“That’s because Geonhak is the owner of that face and that body. I can promise you that nobody is paying attention to a word he says because they’re getting lost in his eyes or his forearms or something.” He reaches across the plate to snatch his egg back. “Also, get your own food. You’ve stolen enough from me.”

“Oh, the  _ dramatics _ , Youngjo.” Keonhee stabs the egg decisively with his chopstick, shoving it in his mouth before it can be returned to its rightful owner. “You know, you should try to see the humor in the situation because it’s really fucking funny.”

“I’m sorry, hyung, I know it sucks.” Dongju pats his back dutifully. “But it  _ is _ hilarious.”

“I need to go to class. Literature class -- you know, the one you ruined for me.” Youngjo yanks his backpack over his shoulder.

“Good luck!” Keonhee seems almost mockingly cheerful.

“You’ll need it.” Dongju mutters, not lifting his head from Animal Crossing to watch Youngjo stomp off.


	2. you are another night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youngjo is forced to face the world's ugliest shirt and the most painfully enthusiastic wingman/love of his life.
> 
> chapter title - aurora by ateez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking arnd for ANOTHER CHAPTER!! i hope you enjoy this and i'll update again next week! i'm on twitter as @sapphichwa if you want to say hi n r 18+!!!!!!!! the froggy chair returns again as well

_“Get to know him first. Compliment his style as a way to introduce yourself. If you have a shared interest, use that to start a conversation with him next time you see each other.”_

Song Mingi is wearing the most hideous tropical flower shirt that he’s ever seen in his entire life. Not that Youngjo is an expert but clothes are a passion of his and he would honestly rather step into oncoming traffic than compliment Mingi’s style today. He actually thinks it may be the universe’s way of punishing him for starting this mess in the first place, because he’s pretty sure Mingi has never worn anything so garish until now. Even Hwanwoong, chin tucked on Youngjo’s shoulder as they wait for class to start, looks a little bit queasy at the spread of hot pink hibiscuses across Mingi’s chest like they’ve personally offended him.

“Not to be rude but you’re lucky he’s hot enough to kinda pull that off.” It’s said warm against Youngjo’s neck, a playful tickle. “Just pretend Hawaiian shirts are a big turn on for you.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that.” Youngjo mutters back, lets his cheek brush Hwanwoong’s briefly enough before he remembers he’s being lovestruck by the wrong person. “But yeah, he’s cute enough to make it work.”

“Okay, I’ll wait here and you,” Hwanwoong makes a _go_ gesture with his fingers, “lay on the flattery.”

Up close, where all six-foot-something of Mingi is folded into his classroom chair watching television on his phone, Youngjo has to say the shirt is even more hideous. He’s about to just swivel around and call the whole thing off when Mingi seems to notice somebody hovering awkwardly in his peripheral, slipping out an earbud and looking up patiently at Youngjo waiting for an explanation. If anything, this is worse than physical torture and he’d rather take a literal baseball bat to the chest than be stuck between Mingi’s dead eyed stare and Hwanwoong, who is probably observing furitavely behind a notebook behind him.

“Didn’t I borrow money from you?” Mingi asks slowly, expecting a shakedown. “I didn’t bring my wallet with me today but--”

“No, no. I just came over to tell you that I like your shirt.” It comes out too abruptly, the syllables blurring together just muddled enough that Mingi has to take out the other earbud. “Your shirt. I like it.”

“This?” Mingi tugs on the collar. “Well, thanks. I mean, it’s not really my shirt. It’s just for a dance performance after class, we had to match a tropical theme. I mean, thank you anyway. It’s kinda ugly though.”

“It is pretty ugly.” Youngjo nods and Mingi makes a noise between laugh and nervous confusion. “I just wanted an excuse to introduce myself to you. I think you’re in the same dance tier as my friend Dongju?”

“Oh, you know Dongju? He’s a cute kid.” Mingi peers over Youngjo’s shoulder, making a subtle thumbs up at Hwanwoong. “Your friend is in the dance program too, right? I’ve seen him around.”

“Yes, that’s Hwanwoong. He’s shy.” Youngjo says dully, watching Hwanwoong duck obviously back behind his planner. “Anyway, I just-- yeah. Wanted to say hi. I’m Kim Youngjo by the way.”

“Cool, nice to meet you.” Mingi’s eyes flit back from Hwanwoong to Youngjo, giving him a fox-eyed smile. “We should all hang out and study sometime.”

Hwanwoong is kicking his legs under the chair when Youngjo sits back down, mouthing an excitable _talk later_ as the professor walks in fumbling an armful of graded essays. He’s not sure what the hell he’s supposed to talk about later given they’d had probably the most boring conversation on Earth and Mingi had thought Youngjo was some sort of debt collector at first, but he’s getting pretty adept at lying through his teeth now. Next to him, Hwanwoong has fumbled on his glasses and is scratching out notes that are half doodles of trees and actual material, tongue caught between his teeth. It’s only five minutes into staring at his profile that Hwanwoong tilts his head mid-leaf drawing, staring up at him curiously with an eyebrow raise of _what_? And it’s not like Youngjo can say that it’s nothing, it’s just that Hwanwoong is so effortlessly pretty with his ankles crossed and the moon-shaped piercing on the delicate shell of his ear and blonde hair curling over his brows, so he fakes pushing an imaginary stray hair from Hwanwoong’s forehead.

“Thanks.” Hwanwoong grins up at him, all teeth and bright eyes, and Youngjo’s heart drops in his stomach because he’s _such_ a lying piece of shit. But if it keeps Hwanwoong close like this forever, their arms brushing as he scribbles notes, the lingering smell of his green tea hand lotion and the steady sound of his breath, then Youngjo isn’t willing to give it up by telling the truth. When class is over, Hwanwoong takes a suspiciously long time packing away his pens and folding each paper carefully into his bag, eyes following Mingi until he’s left the room. Then he pounces, hands wrapping around Youngjo’s forearm and tugging eagerly.

“So? How’d it go? I couldn’t hear anything.” Hwanwoong remains attached at his elbow, cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

“It was fine, we talked mutual friends and stuff. He said we should hold a study group together soon.” Youngjo might as well have said Mingi proposed to him on the spot, since Hwanwoong is reacting with the same amount of excitement. “Calm down or you’re going to start vibrating.”

“I’m going to be late for dance but,” Hwanwoong peels back, “we gotta figure out your next move.”

“Sure thing.” Youngjo says as sincerely as he can fake, shouldering his backpack with a shrug and catching Hwanwoong before he walks away by the back of his sweater. “Where’d you get this? Is it new?”

“Oh-- yeah, it is new.” Hwanwoong chirps in surprise, fingering the neckline of his crewneck. It’s a creamy purple so pale that it’s almost gray, almost like the mother of pearl lining of an oyster. The whole look is so delicate, the lavender against his pale blonde hair and the oversized sleeves pooling at his wrists, that Youngjo just sort of wants to tug him in by his waist and hold him there. 

Then he realizes he’s been staring at him for a beat too long, probably all bug-eyed, because Hwanwoong tugs on the collar again almost nervously. “Is it a weird color? I was really back and forth on it.”

“It’s pretty, it’s really pretty. On you.” Youngjo fumbles the words out, his brain tacking the last part on just in case he hadn’t humiliated himself enough. He hadn’t considered it till now, watching Hwanwoong’s blank face, but perhaps he could solve this entire thing easily by faking his own death and relocating to Mongolia. Then Hwanwoong wiggles himself free, turning back towards the door so fast that Youngjo thinks he imagines the soft flush of pink to his cheeks.

“You’re going to make me _late_.” Hwanwoong singsongs, bounding up the stairs and Youngjo, as always, follows at his heels like a lost dog.

\---

_Make sure you follow up quickly if he offers to spend time with you. Don’t let the opportunity pass or wait too long that it becomes awkward to ask about again._

Youngjo could watch Hwanwoong dance every minute of the day and he’d still be entranced by it each time, marveling at the way he seems to elongate himself, stretch and push himself to a nonexistent edge. He hadn’t known it when they first met and wouldn’t have guessed it -- Hwanwoong bounced between reckless, kitten-like energy and extreme lethargy. Both of those extremes seemed to shed off, easily like layers, as soon as he balanced himself in front of the practice room mirror. There’s something startlingly graceful about when Hwanwoong starts to dance, eyes going sharp and lidded with the practice of somebody used to being watched, a way of relaxing his body without losing an ounce of control. It’s not as if Youngjo is particularly inexperienced with dance either, having spent a good few teen years as a trainee before dropping out due to a stubborn ankle injury. But Hwanwoong is different, transformative when there’s music playing, like nothing Youngjo ever saw in any idol trainees he met.

Even cooling down after practice, Hwanwoong is elegant, wiggling his feet a shoulder width apart before lightly lowering himself to stretch his fingers out in the space between. A few strands of his blonde hair have gone dark with sweat against his forehead, flopping against his eyelashes so many times that he has to keep blowing them away with an annoyed puff. It’s amazing how quickly he can flip the switch, the haughty performance expression sliding off his face immediately into a pout as he drops to the ground to fix a loose shoelace.

“I still have the studio booked for ten more minutes. We could do one more quick run through.” Hwanwoong ties his shoe in a neat bunny-eared loop, lifting his head to look at Seoho hopefully. Seoho, in the kindest way Youngjo can put it, looks like death warmed over a hot, crackling fire. It’s not that Seoho is a bad dancer in the slightest, but next to Hwanwoong, who runs on a hidden source of energy unknown to humans, he’s already red-faced and struggling to choose between panting and sucking down a bottle of water.

“No.” Seoho points a shaking finger when Hwanwoong’s face scrunches up in protest. “I’m impressed you don’t need your lungs or any breathing capabilities to exist but I kind of need them to sing.”

“Come on, it’s a great way to practice lung capacity or controlled breathing or whatever.” Hwanwoong is already bouncing on his heels closer to where his phone is on the ground. “ _Please_ , please, please.”

“Woong, he’s going to pass out.” Youngjo never likes disagreeing with him, especially when Hwanwoong whips his head around to fix him with a look of betrayal. “Run it again by yourself and I’ll let you know if there’s any kinks that need to be worked out.”

Hwanwoong doesn’t argue but there’s a huff in the way he crouches down to restart the song, jamming his thumb down extra hard to select the correct playlist. There’s a knock on the door before he can hit play, startling his phone out of his hand so hard that it skitters a couple of feet away. Youngjo can see his eyes flit back and forth, deciding what’s more urgent before pushing himself up off his knees with exhaled groan ( _still have ten minutes left, it says so on the door, it’s why I closed the curtains_ ). He wrenches up the curtain with far more force than Youngjo has ever seen him use before he makes a noise between a shriek and an unsure laugh, wrenching the door open.

“Mingi! Mingi’s here. It’s Mingi. Mingi from class.” Hwanwoong babbles, looking over his shoulder at Youngjo with eyes the size of saucers. “Mingi and his friends are here.”

“Oh, hi. Hwanwoong?” Mingi steps into the doorframe hesitantly, raising his chin in greeting to Youngjo and Seoho, who is barely maintaining consciousness. “Oh, Youngjo, you’re here too. Sorry to interrupt, we have the room after you… the curtains were closed and we didn’t hear any music so we thought whoever was here left already. We’ll just wait outside.”

“No, come in, we’re actually done.” He says, charmingly polite and bubbly, like he wasn’t swearing under his breath a second before. He’s also burning laser holes through Youngjo’s forehead through his eyes, which could mean many things but probably that he better stand up and start putting his moves on Mingi. Which is the last thing he would ever want to do, especially in front of Mingi’s startlingly large group of friends who spill into the room after him like flood waters with squeaking sneakers. They’re at least polite, dipping their chins down in a friendly hello to Youngjo, Hwanwoong, and a very limp Seoho, before tossing their backpacks into the far corner.

Hwanwoong is still talking to Mingi, pausing every few seconds to look over his shoulder to give Youngjo a frantic look that can be only be described as _what the fuck are you doing_. Youngjo heaves himself up with his palms because he might as well rip this thing off like a bandaid, get it over with before Hwanwoong takes his wingman act a step too far. It’s funny how Hwanwoong always seems to know when he’s near, intrinsically leaning back against Youngjo’s arm when he senses he’s behind him. He turns his head up, gives Youngjo a smile that makes every cell in his brain set of fireworks, before gesturing towards Mingi enthusiastically.

“We were just talking about that study group Mingi told you he wanted to set up. Let’s do it over dinner or something because this class has been a huge headache for me and that midterm paper is coming up.” Hwanwoong sounds so convincingly desperate that Youngjo almost forgets he’s been passing the class with flying colors, even though he sleeps through half of it. “What do you think? That’d be fun.”

“Sure. Yeah. That sounds nice,” Youngjo says even though the elbow digging into his side seems to tell him he’s not sounding overjoyed like he should be, “I’d love that. I always do better comparing notes with people.”

“Oh good, me too. I’m usually good at literature but this semester is kicking my ass a bit.” Youngjo has no doubt that Mingi is correct, given the pathetic look on his face. “Why don’t we exchange numbers and figure something out in like a week? I gotta start practice in a bit so can’t talk long but-- yeah, here, give me your phone.”

They manage to get a group chat started before Mingi gives them a flippant wave, jogging over to join the formation the rest of his dance group has been waiting in. Hwanwoong sends a little peach emoji in greeting, yanking Youngjo out the dance room by his wrist and pushing him in a corner. “Send something flirty.”

“To the _group chat_ ? To say hello?” Youngjo hisses, grappling to get his phone back from Hwanwoong whose height finally pays off in being able to nimbly avoid getting caught. By the time he yanks it back from his hands, Hwanwoong has already sent a message along the lines of _Hello~ It’s Youngjo ^^ <3 I’m glad I got your number _, which is about the worst thing string of words Youngjo has ever read in his entire life.

“Oh good. Really casual. Very chill. Why don’t you send a kissing emoji too to get the point across?” For a second, Hwanwoong’s eyes light up in an unsettling way and Youngjo pockets his phone before he can make a grab for it again. “He’s going to think I want to wear his skin.”

“Even if he does, who cares? You’re an attractive and charming skin crawler. He should be honored.” Hwanwoong grins, pressing his index finger to Youngjo’s forehead playfully. There go the blinding sparks in his head again, that desperation to hear him say it again, to make it mean something more for the two of them. 

He’s never been more thankful to hear Seoho make an annoyed groan behind them, rising from where he’d dragged himself to a bench. “Iced coffee. Now. Or else I’ll die.”

“You should probably just have water instead.” Hwanwoong says, flinching away from the soulless look Seoho fixes on him. “Okay. Your body requires caffeine. Understood. No dying on my watch.”

“You’re buying.” Seoho mumbles and Hwanwoong’s head flicks around, fixing his wide eyes on Youngjo. He can pretend he doesn’t know what he means by it but he damn well does, heaving a sigh and tossing his arms around their shoulders.

“Alright, alright, I’ll buy.” He huffs and they cheer, nuzzling in closer in celebration of successful freeloading. Having friends, Youngjo decides, has been nothing but a plague upon his life.

\-----

_Text him!_

“Text him!” Hwanwoong buries his face into a tiger-shaped pillow on his bed, kicking his legs in annoyance. “Oh my god, just text him. He literally said he wanted to meet up with us.”

“I don’t want to be annoying. If he wants to study with us, he’ll reach out.” Youngjo grapples for Hwanwoong across the bed, tugging him in to smother him to his chest. “You need to stop obsessing over my love life.”

Hwanwoong struggles pitifully before going limp, picking a piece of lint from Youngjo’s hoodie off his mouth with a grimace. “Well, somebody has to do something about it since you’re sure as hell not going to. All these years of friendship and I never struck you to be the coy type.”

That’s because Youngjo is hardly the coy type at all. He’s the _shoves all of his feelings in an incredibly small box and wraps it in newspaper and kicks it to the back of the closet_ type, the one who pretends blissfully that the entire world is not burning around him even though he threw the match in the first place. He’s the type to torture himself, just like right now as he hikes Hwanwoong up a little closer to his chest, listens to him exhale in surprise before relaxing in Youngjo’s grip. He is _not_ , however, a sniveling and shy dumpster fire like he’s somehow painted himself to be in front of Song Mingi. Poor, poor Song Mingi who had just been the back of a head in literature lecture only weeks ago and is now an unwilling pawn in perhaps the most convoluted scheme in history. Youngjo truly feels bad about it until he remembers that Mingi _did_ take money from him for coffee and never paid it back, so perhaps his part in this is just karmic intervention.

“Oh my god. Duh.” Hwanwoong elbows Youngjo hard in the gut, freeing himself to lunge for his phone. “I’m so stupid. _I’m_ in the chat too. _Hi Mingi, it’s Hwanwoong… did you want to set up_ \--”

“No,” Youngjo wheezes, latching his hand around Hwanwoong’s ankle and tugging him back frantically, “do _not_. You demon, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Sent!” Hwanwoong barely squeaks out once Youngjo tosses his entire body weight on top of him in a feeble last minute play to stop him. “You’re going to crush me to death!”

“You deserve it.” Youngjo yanks at a piece of hair curling over Hwanwoong’s hair, watching his face pinch up. He’s not feeling as triumphant once he realizes just how small and warm and fragile Hwanwoong seems under him like this, his cheeks flushed from roughhousing and fingers dug into the front of Youngjo’s shirt. It elicits this awful feeling in him worse than an overwhelming desire to kiss Hwanwoong. Instead, when he’s vulnerable like this, all Youngjo wants to do is keep him close and protect him. Not that Hwanwoong needs protection, almost terrifyingly fearless and enthusiastic with all of his endeavours, but it reminds him of the times that Hwanwoong has allowed himself to be weak in front of Youngjo. He’s let Youngjo hold him when he’s cried over failed exams, hid himself in Youngjo’s jacket the time they made it to Namsan Tower and it turned out Hwanwoong was terrified of heights; in an absolute moment of weakness and in the midst of a flu bug, Hwanwoong had even let Youngjo wash his hair when he could barely crawl to the shower.

It’s just that Youngjo thinks he’s let himself be open, to be a wreck far more times than Hwanwoong has. When he can have Hwanwoong like this so rarely, impossibly delicate with his playful half-smile and glazed eyes and fists curled against Youngjo’s chest, he wants to keep him like that forever. Of course, he doesn’t deserve to have Hwanwoong like that, not after all of the sneaky shit he’s pulled over the last few weeks, the scheming and the lying through his teeth. But for now, just this is enough, even if it does make his heart beat in his ears so loudly that he can’t hear himself breathing.

“It’s a shame,” Hwanwoong says after a long pause, his voice strained, “that you’ll never get to go out with Mingi anyway.”

“Huh?” Youngjo is still staring at him, has been for long enough that even he’d be creeped out. 

Hwanwoong puffs out his chest, giving him one last hard shove. “Because you’ll be serving a life sentence for smothering me to death.” 

“You’re so weak.” Youngjo tries to sound teasing but mostly just sounds absolutely endeared. It’s impossible not to be when Hwanwoong sits up, hair mussed in five different directions and holding a pillow in front of him like a shield. It drops out of his hands the moment Youngjo’s phone buzzes on the nightstand, and before Youngjo even registers that its his phone, Hwanwoong has it clutched in his palms protectively.

“Give me--” Hwanwoong shoves a palm in front of his mouth, using his other hand to swipe Youngjo’s phone pass code in with disturbing speed. It’s what he gets for making it his own birthday, which is just asking to have his phone broken into.

_Song Mingi: what about thursday night? my practice ends at 5pm. we could do dinner._

“Tell him yes. Wait, I have your phone. I’ll tell him yes on your behalf.” Hwanwoong’s tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth as he types it out, seasoning it with the perfect amount of emojis that Youngjo would never in his entire life use.

_Youngjo: dinner sounds great! what do you like to eat?_

“Why do you always make me sound desperate?”

“Because in my fiction, you’re thirsty as hell. You can’t get a guy if you don’t seem a little eager.” Hwanwoong glances over his shoulder, bumping his nose against Youngjo’s cheek like a puppy.

_Song Mingi: i’ll literally eat anything lol. what does hwanwoong like?_

“Hwanwoong… likes… spicy pork...” He intones while typing it, slow and meandering and punctuated with a backwards smiley face that tips faux-Youngjo from thirsty to straight up desperate. “Ugh, I can’t believe you get to have spicy pork and I don’t. He literally asked about _me_.”

Youngjo must look sufficiently confused because Hwanwoong huffs out a laugh, giving him an incredulous look. “You don’t think I’m going to be there, do you? No, no, the plan is that we set this whole thing up and then _oops_ , I realize I have last minute practice, I totally forgot but you two should just meet without me and fill me in later. Then you get your date without me third-wheeling. It’s literally foolproof, I’ve done it so many times.”

It sounds astoundingly bad, but he’s sure it’s worked for people that actually _want_ to hook up with the other person, unlike Youngjo. Hwanwoong has clearly put a lot of thought into it, looking at him like he’s just come up with the theory of relativity, not a bad rom-com plot. Youngjo forces a smile, gives him a thumbs up. “I didn’t think about that.”

“That’s why I’m the brains of this operation.” It’d almost be laughable if Youngjo wasn’t actually the stupidest person in this whole mess. “We should pick out your outfit right now. We’ll just do light make-up too, I’m really good at that whole sexy natural thing. You’re not allergic to strawberry lip gloss, right?”

“You are not putting make-up on me.” He deadpans, shaking his head with enough force to almost toss him off the bed. “I know Mingi isn’t Einstein but I think it’s pretty fucking weird for me to show up to a study group _alone_ and dressed like I’m down to fuck instead of critically analyizing class text.”

“You’re not going to be _dressed to fuck_ , what do you take me for? We’re going for subtle slutty. Again, are you allergic to strawberry lip gloss?”

“You will not. I’m going to wear sweatpants and a t-shirt, like I would for any other thing, and no fucking lip gloss.”

Hwanwoong pauses, eyes rolling up in thought. “Button-up and jeans, you let me put a bit of mascara on you. C’mon, those lashes are to die for.”

God, Hwanwoong must know how easily he manipulates Youngjo, wrapping him tighter and tighter around his finger. This is how he builds character, though, by looking right at Hwanwoong’s little mouth pulled down in a pout and remaining iron strong. “Jeans and a hoodie. You get brown eyeshadow.”

“Jeans and a hoodie,” Hwanwoong says slowly, sucking on his lower lip, “but I get mascara and eyeshadow.”

Youngjo lets out a deflated sigh, sticking out his hand. “Deal.”

“You’re such a sucker.” Hwanwoong teases, shaking his hand with two pumps and flopping back against his pillows. “I don’t get why you keep fighting this so hard. It’s almost like you don’t want to go out with him.”

Which is the absolute truth, but he’s obviously not going to say that. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. It feels like I’m being too eager.”

“I promise you, guys love eager. You’re cute when you’re eager too. I don’t know how he’s lasted this long.” Hwanwoong mentions it so casually, playing with his cuticles, that Youngjo thinks he’s misheard it. Hwanwoong thinks he’s _cute_ when he’s eager. He’s _cute_. Hwanwoong even implied he may be, in some weird ass backwards way, so eager that he’s hard to resist. He knows he’s going to float on this for days and pretend that Hwanwoong really feels that way, that what he said was applicable for a completely different context than trying to set him up with another guy.

They settle back into their after class routine, textbooks and papers spread over Hwanwoong’s comforter, kicking their legs in the air and listening to hip-hop on low and pausing every few minutes to compare answers. Not that Youngjo is focused on any of the equations in front of him, a mess of swimming numbers and symbols. He steals a glance at Hwanwoong, who is looking right at him with a half-smile and a tilt of his head, before he furtively returns to his homework.

He’s written the word _cute_ as the answer to a calculus question. All Youngjo can do is furiously erase at it, flushed high in his cheeks, and pretend like Hwanwoong can’t see him scrub a hole right through the fucking paper with his pencil.

\----

“So,” Geonhak takes a long sip of his coffee, folding his hands in front of him, ”how is the mess turning out?”

“Well, messy, as expected.” Youngjo mutters dully, playing with the straw wrapper in front of him. “Shit got, as many people expected, fucked right away. All I wanted was some stupid flirting tips and like, flip it on him, you know?”

“Of course. Oldest trick in the book. Never met anybody who didn’t love being deceived.” Dongju stares blankly down at his phone, where his Animal Crossing home now contains 5 cat-shaped lamps that are being carefully arranged.

“I thought he’d just give me some stuff like _buy him coffee_ and _take him out to dinner_.”

“Those are literally the things you do already.” Geonhak scrubs at his face. “Oh my god, you’re both so dense.”

Youngjo holds up a warning finger, narrowing his eyes. “Then Hwanwoong got really into this Love Guru thing and instead of giving me some advice he decided to become my fucking life coach.”

“Hwanwoong doesn’t half-ass anything, especially when it comes to you. You should have expected this. He’s probably already putting together a wedding scrapbook for the Song-Kim nuptials.” Dongju looks up only when Youngjo makes a wilting noise like a kicked dog, frowning sympathetically. “I’m just kidding. He really cares about you, that’s why he’s being so intense about it.”

Of course Dongju, in his infinite and mysterious wisdom, is correct. Not that he’d admit it because he didn’t want to be talking about this on his break anyway. His plans had been to tuck himself into the furthest corner and watch bad Vine compilations until he stopped being incredibly sad and stressed about this whole situation. That was, in retrospect, a lofty goal but anything would have been better than being immediately hounded by Geonhak and Dongju as soon as he’d popped his headphones. He should have known better, having been purposely cagey about the thing with Hwanwoong, along with stupid enough to supply his friends with his work schedule. Now he’s here, being roasted over an open fire by the two of them, when he could just be tucked into a chair with just his iced americano and a video titled _vines to cry to_.

“I wish I hadn’t started this whole thing.” Youngjo crosses his arms on the table, burrowing his face into them miserably. “I wish Geonhak had kept his bad idea to himself and I could have pinned in eternal longing for the rest of my life.”

Geonhak makes an offended noise of protest while Dongju nods in agreement, a sage look that says Geonhak _truly_ should have just shut up from the very start. Maybe if Youngjo keeps his head face down on the table, they’ll just think he’s asleep or dead and naturally disperse. Instead, when he lifts his face a minute later, Geonhak is still staring at him with a look of betrayal and Dongju is pretending like he didn’t just take a drink of Youngjo’s coffee.

“If I try to back out of this whole thing, it’ll just be even messier.” He drags his finger down the condensation of his plastic cup, sounding far more sulky than he intends.

“Well, you’re already lying so why not just lie your way out of it?” Geonhak eases back in his chair, raising his hands like he’s personally saved Youngjo’s life with just a sentence. “Go on the date with Mingi and then just act like it was a huge bust. Like you realized he’s not that cute or charming or whatever. Just act all disappointed like you don’t want to talk about it again.”

Dongju grimaces, making a pained whistle between his teeth. “Okay, I kind of hate myself for saying it, but Geonhak has a good idea.”

“That’s what he makes you think. It’s the pecs that convince you.” Youngjo gestures to Geonhak’s chest dismissively. Although, in some backwards way, there is an ounce of sense to the idea. Maybe this is what he gets for spending all of his working hours listening to Geonhak mumble on and on while making lattes but it _is_ a way to end this whole thing without Hwanwoong even being there. All he has to do is survive one night and then tell Hwanwoong that he’s over it now, that Mingi ate with his mouth open or wouldn’t pause his game of Love Live! School Idol Festival or spent the whole three hours talking about the science behind why the earth is flat. Of course, like all of Geonhak’s plans, this will somehow end up exploding in his face but at this point he’s shit out of other ideas.

Youngjo pushes his chair back with a scrape, standing up to retie his apron. “Anyway, I don’t have time for this anymore. I’m back on the clock so either buy something or stop taking up space.”

“I literally work here.” Geonhak blinks up at him in disbelief. “You can’t kick me out of my own workplace.”

“Hyung, wait.” Dongju is already back on his phone. “Can I borrow like 50,000 won?”

Youngjo fixes his crooked name tag. “For _what_?”

Dongju raises his head a half inch, fixing Youngjo with blank eyes. “Need to buy more frog chairs for my Animal Crossing home.”

“Both of you. Out.” He makes a protective grab for his wallet, backstepping towards the counter. “Do not let him spend more money on virtual chairs.”

Geonhak looks up at him forlornly, palms spread like a white flag. “I cannot stop what has already been put in motion.”


	3. you're my spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people go on a date with the wrong man. Hearts are broken.
> 
> chapter title: love blossom by k.will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for hanging on to read another chapter!! i hope you enjoy, there's only one more chapter after this. if you ever want to connect, you can find me on twitter as @sapphichwa if ur 18+ !

_Put in the extra effort to make him feel special, like you’d never do this for anybody else._

He should have known Hwanwoong wouldn’t have kept his promise as soon as he saw his make-up bag spilled out across the desk. Hwanwoong had already managed to bully him into a crewneck sweater instead of a hoodie, swapping out his favorite pair of tattered jeans for a newer pair that he’d been saving for any other occasion besides an ill-intended date with Song Mingi. Then he’d shoved Youngjo onto the edge of the bed and he’d seen Hwanwoong’s cat-print cosmetic pouch across from him, overflowing with far more than just mascara and plain brown eyeshadow.

“We made a deal that you have already broken.” Youngjo extends his hands defensively, prepared to fight off anything Hwanwoong puts on his face. “You said mascara and eyeshadow only.”

“Without anything on your lips, you’re going to look weirdly underdressed with that outfit.” Hwanwoong whines, brandishing an Etude House tint like a weapon.

“You _also_ broke that promise and forced me to wear this.” He almost smacks himself in the face gesturing towards his sweater. “You’re a traitor.”

“Please, allow me this blank canvas.” Hwanwoong flops forward dramatically, placing his chin on Youngjo’s knee and peering up all big-eyed-pouty-lipped. “You’re so _pretty_ , we can’t waste it.”

Youngjo finds it incredibly hard to believe that Hwanwoong doesn’t understand even an ounce of the power he has, the way he can manipulate with a casual compliment and fluttered eyelashes. The worst part is that he knows Hwanwoong doesn’t get it because he’s too kindhearted, would never wrap Youngjo so tightly around his finger if he knew Youngjo thought of him as anything other than a best friend. He’s still blinking away stars and trying to make sure his heart doesn’t just explode out of his chest when Hwanwoong takes the time to attack, steadying Youngjo’s chin with his palm and applying something that smells like artificial cherry. At this point, Hwanwoong could be taking a marker and drawing him a pair of eyebrows and Youngjo wouldn’t even notice. There’s truly something to be said about getting this fucked up from some little throwaway sentence like that but he’s still seeing it like a film reel in his mind, Hwanwoong’s dimple and the kittenish tilt to his head and the _you’re so pretty_ on repeat.

“You should wear make-up all the time. You’re already good looking,” Hwanwoong’s breath is warm on his jaw and Youngjo has to curl his fingers into the comforter, “but you look like an idol with this.”

Hwanwoong is too close for Youngjo to do anything but desperately conjure happy thoughts, like meadows and sunrises and never seeing Song Mingi again ever in his life. He has to do anything but think about looking even slightly down, where Hwanwoong is in a dangerously kissable distance. _Meadows, sunrises, Song Mingi drops out of college forever_ , Youngjo thinks when Hwanwoong sits up and knocks their noses together, laughing against his cheek and smelling like vanilla chapstick. 

“Are you done yet?” Youngjo asks a bit too desperately and Hwanwoong eases back on his knees, looking a bit more flushed than before and fiddling with the tiny eyeshadow compact in his other hand.

“Why? Is it a bit uncomfortable?” Hwanwoong gnaws on his lower lip. “I mean, if you really don’t like it, I can take it off. Or you can do it yourself, if you don’t want me--”

“No, no,” He squeaks it out, yanking Hwanwoong forward by his wrist with more enthusiasm than intended, “I need you to do it for me or I’ll look like a clown.”

Hwanwoong looks mildly off-balance, like he’s been picked up by his scruff, before he averts his eyes to pick out a tube of mascara. “Well, okay, I can’t say no to flattery like that.”

Then he’s close again, a hand on Youngjo’s thigh to steady himself as he swipes his other finger into brown eyeshadow, blending it with a slow and careful movement over Youngjo’s eyes. He almost wishes Hwanwoong wasn’t trying so hard, wasn’t so focused on making Youngjo look good for somebody else -- just wishes this was anything but what it is. Hwanwoong’s palm presses on his shoulders now and he ducks his face up, giving him a soft-eyed look.

“You’re all tense. Your shoulders are up to your ears.” Hwanwoong moves to cup Youngjo’s cheeks lightly. “You look amazing and everything will be fine and if Mingi doesn’t think you’re the most wonderful man in the world, I’ll personally kick his ass.”

He hopes Hwanwoong can’t feel how hot his face is getting, slipping his hands over Hwanwoong’s to slowly move them away. “Mingi could literally punt you like a soccer ball.”

“Yes, but what I lack in height, I make up for in agility.” Hwanwoong rolls his eyes, holding onto Youngjo’s fingers for a beat too long before he drops them to fish for a tube of lip tint. There’s a slide of something sticky and artificial grape-scented over his mouth before Hwanwoong rocks back an inch, tilting his head sideways as if he’s deeply analyzing a piece of art. Then he claps his hands together so suddenly that Youngjo blinks off a few flakes of mascara, letting out a dreamy sigh.

“Perfect. You know, I should do this for a living.” Hwanwoong digs behind him clumsily for a mirror, pushing it into Youngjo’s face. “What do you think?”

All he can think is he looks _different_ . He’s worn make-up before, quick easy looks for performances and shitty house parties, but Hwanwoong has softened him up in a way he’s never seen before. It’s embarrassing to admit but he does look a bit pretty in a very _Hwanwoong_ way, with dark-framed lashes that make his eyes look impossibly large and that pouty thing going on (is lip gloss the reason that Hwanwoong always looks so infuriatingly kissable?) with his mouth. But then there’s something incredibly depressing about knowing he’s only like this to go on what is already a failed date, that Hwanwoong spent so much time and energy and care to make him look perfect for somebody else. He’s gotten really good at bumming the hell out of himself, trying to force a smile at Hwanwoong when all he can think is that he wished he was all put together just for the two of them.

“You’re a miracle worker.” Youngjo looks away from his own face, pretending to pick lint off his sweater. “Maybe I should head out now.”

“Oh, yeah, you can’t be late.” Hwanwoong startles from where he’s still focused at Youngjo, dropping the mirror onto the comforter. “Let me get you some cologne.”

“ _Hwanwoong_.” But he’s already flitting off to the bathroom, leaving Youngjo to ease off the bed with a sigh of a man on his way to execution. He’s slipping on his jacket when Hwanwoong returns, grabbing Youngjo by his collar and tugging him down to spray what smells like air freshener at the nape of his neck. He starts coughing, half because of the perfume and half because Hwanwoong has him yanked dangerously close to his face, waving his hands frantically to extract himself from the situation.

“I smell like I just came out of the washing machine.” It’s actually a familiar scent, the one that sometimes clings to Hwanwoong’s clothes after dance practice, a sharp and clean fragrance against the apple smell of his hair. Youngjo knows Hwanwoong uses it sparingly, some sort of expensive cologne his parents got him when he entered university, which is both incredibly touching and also just wants to make him call it quits right here.

“You smell good. That’s my favorite scent.” Hwanwoong protests, fingering the material of Youngjo’s sweater before smoothing down the wrinkle he’s made. “Okay, hurry up so you can make your bus. And just have _fun_ , okay? Don’t stress. Do you want to call me afterwards?”

“No, I’ll just let you know… when I know. I don’t know. I’ll text you.” Hwanwoong seems to interpret his stuttering as genuine nervousness, wrapping arms around his waist with a tight squeeze and pressing his cheek into the crook of Youngjo’s shoulder.

It’s sweet and touching and warms Youngjo down to his toes until Hwanwoong opens his stupid mouth. “I feel like I’m sending my baby off to get married.”

“You are so annoying.” Youngjo huffs but he lets him stay there until Hwanwoong untangles himself, tweaking Yongjo’s bangs playfully.

“Only because I love you. Now go!” Hwanwoong smiles brightly, giving him a shove towards the door. _Fuck_ , he thinks as he shoves his shoes on and stumbles blankly back out into the evening towards his imminent death. _I love you too_.

\----

_Now go get your man!_

“You look,” Mingi blinks at him, looking deeply confused, “nice.”

Youngjo throws his backpack into the booth, busying himself with dumping out his notebooks and pens like he’s not trying to hide the apathy on his face. “Sorry I’m overdressed, I had a class presentation before this.”

Mingi blinks rapidly, looking over Youngjo’s shoulder and drumming his fingers on the table. “Is Hwanwoong coming separately?”

“Oh-- no, he didn’t have time to text you.” The lie Hwanwoong made him prepare comes out jilted but Mingi doesn’t seem to notice. “His dance team had an emergency and needed to redo part of their choreo, so he had to hurry over there. I hope that’s not-- awkward. We can reschedule if you want.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I already ordered some food,” Mingi does sound slightly disappointed though, “plus I'd love to see how you're handling this shitty class.”

In retrospect, it could be a lot worse. Mingi already seems to have gotten over the fact that Youngjo has shown up looking like he’d wanted to get wined and dined; he’d heaved his textbook onto the table, almost knocking over half the side dishes, and immediately launched into a low-pitched, whining spiel about how shitty their literature professor was. Overall, Youngjo thinks he’s doing a pretty damn good job of making this shitfest as normal as possible, even having helped Mingi flesh out the thesis statement of his midterm paper. He actually manages to get some outlining done on his own project, which is far more of a fruitful result than he ever expected this night turning into. 

True to his word, Mingi absolutely despises their literature class and looks incredibly grateful when their waiter stops to drop off two plates of spicy stir-fried pork, giving him an excuse to shove aside his dog-eared copy of _From Wonso Pond_. It’s apt timing because even though this is going about as smooth as possible, Youngjo is ready to scarf down his food and throw in the towel for the night.

Mingi dumps his entire bowl of rice onto his plate, roughly mixing it with a spoon and clearing his throat. “Honestly, I thought this would be weird since we don’t really know each other and then-- you know, Hwanwoong didn’t come-- but this is actually okay.”

There’s a part of Youngjo that does feel guilty about Mingi’s role in this whole thing, hapless Mingi who has the unwitting and undeserving target of Youngjo’s bad energy for the last few weeks. He’s nice and a little bit dopey, sort of in a friendly neighborhood puppy way, but Youngjo could see himself being friends with Mingi under different, far less insane circumstances.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I know he wanted to come but his dance team is really important to him.” Youngjo carefully places a slice of pork on his bed of rice. “I’m sure you get that though.”

“Oh, totally.” Mingi coughs and for a second, Youngjo almost thinks he’s starting to blush. “Actually, the thing is-- this is going to sound fucking weird. But I’m kind of glad Hwanwoong couldn’t come.”

“Huh.” Youngjo pauses, nearly dropping his spoon. “Huh?”

“It would have been strange because like-- there’s kind of something I wanted to talk to you about.” Mingi shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes. “Again, not to sound weird, but I wanted to ask you something alone.”

Youngjo does a great job of remaining placid like his entire brain is not engulfed in flames because _oh, fuck_ , the only thing this can mean is that he’s actually done it. He has, in an absolute ass backwards turn of events, maybe seduced Song Mingi. This must be eighth ring of hell, Youngjo decides as he watches Mingi stare back at him awkwardly, where he’s been punished to serve the rest of eternity for a life of scheming and lying and now he’s trying to think at what point he actually died; perhaps last week when an SUV had almost flattened him while he was turning onto the crosswalk. There’s a very likely chance he’d actually gotten turned into roadkill and everybody is mourning his death while he is here in purgatory, rotting away and forced to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Mingi is still blinking at him, looking immensely pained, and Youngjo has to stab his own thigh with his fingernail to remind him that even though burning in hell would be preferable to this, he’s got to say _something_. He can’t just make an Olympic-grade sprint towards the restaurant doors if Song Mingi is pouring out his fucking heart and soul because apparently, Youngjo is maybe and accidentally too good at flirting.

“Yes?” He drags it out a syllable too long, sounding awfully high pitched. “Alone? With me?”

“I _knew_ this would be weird.” Mingi grimaces, slumping down in the booth before scooching back up. “But like-- okay, what’s Hwanwoong’s deal? Is he like… what’s up with him?”

There is a completely blank space where Youngjo’s thoughts should be. “What? Hwanwoong? What?”

“Like, is he… like, you two aren’t together, right?” Mingi makes a vague finger pushing gesture that Youngjo vaguely assumes must mean _dating_. “He’s single? He’s not seeing anybody?”

“No.” Youngjo’s mouth feels awfully dry before he realizes that’s because it’s hanging open like an idiot. “Yes. I mean, yes, he’s not… seeing anybody.”

Mingi, much to his chagrin, looks immensely relieved by this. “Okay, I didn’t know if you two had a thing or whatever. So, like, do you think it’d be okay then? If I asked him out? I always saw him around the dance studio and thought he was cute but didn’t really know him. But now it wouldn’t be too out of the blue, right? I kinda feel like he could be interested in me.”

Youngjo has stopped listening at this point, imagining his soul peacefully ascending from his body and straight through the roof of this family-owned pork restaurant. There were plenty of terrible, worst case scenarios that Youngjo had mentally steeled himself against before walking into this date but this feels much like he’d brought a knife to a grenade fight. Because there was never, _ever_ an ounce of his stupid caveman brain that thought maybe Mingi was so willing to make friends with him and talk to them and form a study group with them because he actually just wanted to get closer to Hwanwoong. It sounds ridiculous but it had just never occured that anybody noticed Hwanwoong except for him, that there wouldn’t ever be another person on campus interested in him because Youngjo had staked some sort of mental claim on him. Of course somebody like him would be into Hwanwoong, who is perfectly tiny and pretty and pixie-like and therefore irresistible to tall men like Song Mingi.

The absolute worst part of this is that there’s something in Youngjo’s throat that’s clawing down his gut reaction to say _no_ , Mingi can’t ask him out. It’s guilt, he realizes, along with probably a bit of anxious nausea. It’s not his job to make decisions on behalf of his best friend just because he’s selfish and wants to keep Hwanwoong to himself. It’s not his right to lie to Mingi’s face because as fucking painful as it is, all Hwanwoong has wanted is to see Youngjo happy and he deserves to have it reciprocated. If reciprocation means that he’s got to choke out his best smile and pretend like a knife wasn’t twisted directly into his gut, then he’s going to do it. Youngjo won’t sabotage Hwanwoong like that, even if it’s probably the most painful thing he’s had to think about in his life.

“Sure, you could ask him out.” There’s a surprising amount of calm to Youngjo’s voice, far steadier than how his stomach feels. “Um, did you want to finish dinner and get back to work? Drafts are due next week so…”

“Oh- yeah, of course. Sorry, that was probably a really awkward question. You’re not his keeper or anything but since you’re his best friend… anyway, thanks so much.” Mingi digs back into his food with enough enthusiasm that it makes Youngjo queasy. All of this lying is making him remarkably good at pretending he’s fine in terrible situations though, since he manages to get through another hour of listening to Mingi mumble through his literature notes and answering questions about metaphor interpretations without just climbing out the bathroom window. At this point, he could probably get his kidney removed without anesthesia because he has completely numbed himself to the outside world.

It’s 9 PM when they split the check and Mingi gives him a lazy wave goodbye, backpack tossed over his shoulder, as he takes off in the opposite direction. Youngjo stays there a bit, swaying unsteadily like he’s drunk before stumbling off towards his own apartment. His phone has almost twenty messages on it and he almost walks into a lot of sign posts in his daze back home, scanning through them quickly. Three from Seoho that are just kissy faces, a single and horrifying eggplant emoji from Geonhak, five from Dongju asking where he keeps his credit card, and two from Geonhee that end in a lot of question marks. The rest are from Hwanwoong, who has been texting him steadily all night, asking for updates and then exciting himself when he doesn’t get them because it must be going _really well_. Youngjo pauses outside of his apartment building, blinking away the exhaustion of the day and the misery that’s settled deep in his bones, to type something dismissive so Hwanwoong will go to bed already.

_youngjo: just got home_

_hwanwoong: so late????????? omg_

_hwanwoong: omg_

_hwanwoong: can i call you????????? pllllleeeaaasseee_

_youngjo: im rly tired, lets talk about it when i see u next?_

Youngjo swallows the bitter taste in his mouth when he sees the three dots of Hwanwoong typing, pausing, typing again.

_hwanwoong: oh_

_hwanwoong: sure thing ^^ go get some rest_

_hwanwoong: good night_

He’s sure he’s hurt Hwanwoong’s feelings or worried him or done _something_ to upset him but he’s too wrung out to fix it. There’s nothing he wants to do more than to just fall into bed and that’s what he does as soon as he’s inside, kicking off his shoes and burrowing under the comforter. Youngjo can feel how heavy his make-up is on his face, probably smearing all over his pillowcase, but he has no energy to scrub it off, nonetheless wiggle out of his jeans and sweater. He just tucks himself tighter into a ball and closes his eyes, pretending he still can’t smell the heavy weight of Hwanwoong’s cologne on the nape of his neck.

\-----

Youngjo is an incredibly bad friend and he knows it. It’s far too easy to go AWOL on his group of friends following that night with Mingi, especially since they fall immediately into the Chuseok holiday and he’s able to pretend not to answer text messages under the guise of spending time with his family. His parents had actually taken the opportunity to visit his older sister in Canada, leaving him with a box of homemade _songpyeon_ and a kiss on each cheek before hopping back in their taxi to the airport. So his actual Chuseok had just been, for the most part, binge watching the entirety of his My Anime List profile and eating pizza in bed. He knows how pitiful he looks, unwashed and in the same pair of pajama pants for the third day in a row, but he has no energy to anything besides click the ‘Yes, I’m Still Watching’ button every two hours.

He doesn’t like how heartbreak looks on him. Most people could probably find something fruitful to do with it after a while, like write a song or go on some sort of eat-pray-love journey, but all he can do with it is miserably stare at his water-stained ceiling for hours. The healthy thing would be to actually start returning his friends’ calls and stop hyperfixating on the mental image of Hwanwoong and Mingi dating and how perfectly matched they’d be and how he’s going to die alone with ten dogs. However, the easiest thing is to just engage in therapy via take-out food, short cat naps, and watching ASMR cooking videos as he hides under the blanket. He’d been watching them on his phone until Geonhak had suddenly started blowing up his Kakaotalk with calls and messages that seem vaguely threatening from the preview ( _stop being an idiot for like 5 secs you fucki…_ ), forcing his videos to pause every few seconds. He ends up just shoving his phone under his pillow to make it stop lighting up, rolling back to face his laptop and start another episode of Madoka Magica. By episode 3, he’s passed out again and only roused when he hears the front door slam so hard that his bed frame shakes a bit.

He’s unsure if he’s being robbed by an incredibly clumsy burglar or perhaps forgot he ordered take-out, leaving the delivery driver with no choice but to break and enter for payment. Youngjo fumbles across the sheets to find his phone, blinking blearily at the screen when it lights up under his thumb.

_10 missed calls from geonhak_

_geonhak: dont say i didnt warn u :/_

“Kim Youngjo!” For the first time in his life, Youngjo finds himself deeply afraid of Hwanwoong. He rips the sheets off, taking in his appearance -- matted hair, stained t-shirt, the general scent of being unwashed and depressed -- before trying to think what he could possibly do to make himself look anymore presentable within the ten seconds it’ll take for Hwanwoong to get to his room. He’s in the middle of smooshing down his bangs and trying to remember how long ago he brushed his teeth when Hwanwoong yanks his bedroom door open, glancing around rapidly before he narrows in on Youngjo, standing pitifully by his curtains as if trying to blend into the wall.

“Oh, look who’s alive and breathing.” Hwanwoong unravels his scarf with a hard yank, tossing it onto Youngjo’s desk along with his backpack. “Here I was thinking you died in a ditch.”

“You’re here.” Youngjo says stupidly, voice hoarse. “Hello.”

“Hello? _Hello_?” Hwanwoong’s coat comes off next, flung onto the ground with a hard kick into the corner. “You haven’t been answering any of us for days and you just say hello?”

“Is howdy any better?” He squeaks out and Hwanwoong fixes him with a look so icy that he momentarily fears for his life. “Okay, I know, I have a lot to explain.”

“Go ahead then.” Hwanwoong has moved on from audible rage to something even more frightening, which is a completely dead and steady tone. “Explain why you didn’t text me back after your date-- or any of our friends-- and then just didn’t answer us when we were freaking out that maybe something bad happened to you. _Then_ I had to find out from your own mom that you weren’t even being weird and shitty because you were busy at their house for Chuseok?”

Youngjo falls back onto the edge of his bed, scrubbing at his face to try and wake up a bit more. “From my mom? You talked to my mom?”

“Yes, sometimes she asks me to check up on you and also we share recipes.” Hwanwoong swats his hand in the air dismissively, looking supremely annoyed at being questioned. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I just,” Youngjo pauses and for the first time in this whole nightmare of a mess, he finally tells the truth, “the date went bad. It went really fucking awful.”

Hwanwoong pauses, mouth pursed sharply but the tension held high in his shoulders is already easing. He stares at Youngjo a little longer, like he wants to stay angry, but can’t quite manage it and exhales a sharp sigh. Just like that, his whole face seems to soften back to the Hwanwoong he knows, looking small and worried as he falls back into Youngjo’s desk chair, drawing his knees to his chest. It’s quiet for a bit, Hwanwoong chewing his lower lip like he’s thinking carefully about what to say next, like Youngjo is a wounded animal that he has to take delicate steps around.

“I kind of figured. You’re alright, though, right?” Hwanwoong says slowly, twisting a piece of hair anxiously between his fingers.

“I’m fine. I mean, shit sucks,” Again, Youngjo couldn’t be closer to the truth, “but I’m okay.”

“Okay, as long as you’re fine. Do you want to talk about it? Or is that uncomfortable?” Hwanwoong drops his hands to his lap, giving Youngjo a hesitant smile. “Look at that, I had a whole speech prepared about how mad I was and you ruined it. I can’t stay angry at you anyway.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of being angry in the first place.” Youngjo laughs tiredly and when Hwanwoong grins back, things feel normal for the first time in a while, like tiny puzzle pieces clicking into place. “It’s not uncomfortable, it’s just humiliating. He kind of liked somebody else that wasn’t me.”

It feels good to tell the truth, even if it’s not really the truth since he’s leaving out the most important details of the whole thing. But it’s the most honest Youngjo has been in a long time because he truly does feel humiliated and all this shit really _does_ suck so bad. Hwanwoong tries his best to conceal a wince when Youngjo says it, giving him wide-eyed pitying looking that he might have found insulting if he wasn’t _actually_ so pitiful and pathetic right now.

“He told you that? What a dick.”

“I kind of get the feeling he didn’t really… think we were hanging out as anything more than friends in the first place.” The bed dips next to him as Hwanwoong sits by his side, pressing him into a hug that smells like apple shampoo and cold snow. “I’m just glad I didn’t get too invested. He’s not that great anyway.”

“No, he’s not. He’s an asshole.” Hwanwoong mumbles against Youngjo’s cheek, pressing him in tighter before pulling back an inch. “You know what you need? Alcohol and bad television.”

“I don’t really feel like going out.” Youngjo picks at his t-shirt, pretending he doesn’t see the obvious toothpaste stain on it.

“Okay, well, I was pissed off at you but had a feeling that heartbreak might have been involved.” Hwanwoong moves to grab his backpack, rifling through it before clicking his tongue in triumph. “Tada!”

He’s clutching one bottle of strawberry-flavored soju in his hand but when he moves, the bag on his lap clinks a bit in a way that suggests he came very well prepared. Youngjo peels back the zipper a little more, sees the bright neon packaging of his favorite potato chips and has the sudden urge to just wrap himself around Hwanwoong and never let go.

“Nobody on earth loves you more than me.” Youngjo says with a straight face because he knows it now more than ever. 

“If you really loved me, you would take a shower.” Hwanwoong flutters his flashes prettily before dropping his smile. “You smell, and I’m putting this nicely, musty.”

“That’s the smell of inner anguish.” Youngjo answers meekly, taking a wide step towards the bathroom when Hwanwoong’s face doesn’t budge. “Okay, understood. Shower incoming.”

He takes his time in the shower, cranking the temperature as hot as possible, carefully raking his fingernails through his hair and wash out all the grime and misery and smell of take-out food. It’s only after he’s emptied half a bottle of body wash, sufficiently scented like a spring meadow, that he turns off the water and gives his head a quick fluff with the towel. In the mirror, he’s got that pink and raw flush to his skin from trying to scrub off days of stewing in his own sadness -- self-care is a good look on him but perhaps just not looking like a gray, unwashed corpse as a whole is flattering. He digs out a pair of sweats and a worn t-shirt he usually sleeps in, padding out to the living room in his dog-print socks where Hwanwoong is tucked up in the corner of his couch, nursing a tiny glass of soju that’s already been drained to the last drops.

“Did you start without me?” Youngjo glances at the television, playing an old and particularly cliche drama, before tossing himself on the couch with strategic distance between himself and Hwanwoong. Which, in the end, is pointless because Hwanwoong flops next to him as soon as he’s seated, burrowing under his arm like a nettle clinging to his clothes.

“You were in the shower for like 45 minutes.” Hwanwoong pouts, breath already slightly strawberry-scented. “Do you feel better? You look better. Smell better too.”

It’s been such a long time since they’ve drank together and, now that Youngjo thinks about it, probably the first time they’ve drank with just the two of them (usually they’re piled into a street tent with the rest of their friends, sipping drinks between mouthfuls of fish cake). Over the last few months, his mind has conveniently forgotten the fact that Hwanwoong’s affection meter cranks up twice the amount and he can hardly make a statement without touching some part of the person next to him. Like, for instance, right now as Hwanwoong’s right hand grips Youngjo’s hip firmly as he leans forward to pour soju into the empty cup on the table.

“I am officially out of my slump.” Youngjo watches Hwanwoong top off his own cup, clinking their glasses together and swigging his back before Youngjo has the chance to take a sip. “Uh.”

“I’ve had a rough week too, you know, being avoided by my best friend.” Hwanwoong gives him a withering stare that’s already softened a bit by alcohol. “C’mon, finish that and have another. This drama is unwatchable unless you’re tipsy.”

Always the devoted best friend, Youngjo knocks back another shot that burns, sweet and artificial and sharp, down his throat. Hwanwoong remains continuously warm and curled against his side, wide eyes flashing a glassy blue with the reflection of the television, snapping back to attention when they need a refill. It’s only an hour into the drama and more bottles of alcohol, pulled from Hwanwoong’s bag and the corners of Youngjo’s house, for him to realize that they’re both well and completely drunk; Youngjo a bit less just because he’s had a few more years of practice and -- in kind terms -- he is not a tiny lightweight when it comes to holding his liquor. Hwanwoong, on the other hand, is a tad bit pickled, head tipped back in Youngjo’s lap with his hair fanned around his face like a halo.

“This is so stupid.” Hwanwoong mutters, rubbing the hem of Youngjo’s pajama pants between his fingers. “She literally just drew a mole on her face and they’re acting like they have no idea who she is now.”

“Huh?” Youngjo blinks up at the television, where _Temptation of Wife_ plays blurred through his vision. “Oh, yeah. I never got that.”

“You’re not even paying attention.” Hwanwoong rolls over, propping his chin on Youngjo’s knee. “How much alcohol will it take to erase Mingi permanently from your brain?”

“Not enough.” It’s a joke but Hwanwoong’s mouth pulls down into a frown. “I’m just kidding. I really don’t care anymore. It’s humiliating as hell but I’m already over it.”

“He didn’t-- like, tell you who he was interested in?” Hwanwoong blinks up at him, one eye slower than the other. “He’s not that much of an asshole, right?”

Hwanwoong is pathetically obvious while he’s drunk, the tone of his question dragging out so long that Youngjo is sure he knows the answer already and even though he’s a bit (a lot) wasted, he puts the pieces together easily. There was a reason that Hwanwoong had let go of his anger so quickly earlier, had almost seemed relieved that Youngjo’s radio silence was only the result of his own embarrassment and nothing to do with Hwanwoong himself. It’s now clear, as much as it can be through a haze of alcohol, that Hwanwoong must have thought Youngjo was angry at him for being the one that Mingi actually wanted to hang out. Which means, in a thought that twists his stomach unpleasantly, that in the time he dropped off the face of the Earth, Mingi must have asked Hwanwoong out. There’s a feeling of guilt that Hwanwoong had accidentally interpreted his silence as a feeling of betrayal; it just makes Youngjo want to gather him up and make Hwanwoong stop giving him the nervous, dizzy-eyed look that he’s doing such a bad job of disguising.

“Let me guess - Mingi asked you out?” Youngjo reaches for the remote to turn down the volume because he’s having a hard time being drunk, thinking, and listening to this shitty ass show at the same time. “Hwanwoong, I know. It’s really okay.”

“You know.” Hwanwoong looks queasy, either from alcohol or sheer panic, tugging on Youngjo’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, I was going to tell you eventually because you’re my best friend and I can’t keep secrets from you and especially about that. But you seemed so upset and--”

“Calm down. It’s okay.” Everything seems so blurry and panicked and Youngjo is severely regretting having this conversation after too many shots. “Mingi literally asked me for permission to ask you out.”

“He _what_ .” Hwanwoong deadpans, pausing to hiccup. “He asked _you_ to ask _me_ out? What? _He what?_ ”

“I told you that he didn’t really catch onto the whole date thing so in his defense,” Perhaps the first time anybody has advocated for Mingi in this whole ordeal, “he was just shooting his shot.”

“That must have been so horrible. How do you not hate me?” Up close, Youngjo can see the flush to Hwanwoong’s cheeks and hopes the wetness to his eyes is not tears but just the result of being absolutely hammered. “Oh my god, I would hate me.”

“Calm down, why would I hate you? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Hwanwoong sniffles and _christ_ , he can’t be crying because Youngjo definitely can’t handle this inebriated. “Seriously, I don’t care. I’m glad I didn’t waste more of my time with him, it saved me the effort.”

Hwanwoong bundles a handful of Youngjo’s shirt in his fist, using it to wipe at his nose and wet eyes in a pathetic way that is far too endearing to be gross. “I turned him down, of course, I mean-- I couldn’t say yes to a guy that broke my best friend’s heart.”

“You didn’t have to say no because of me.” Youngjo says even though he would rather die than know Hwanwoong said yes.

“Oh god, _no_ . I wasn’t interested in him at all.” Hwanwoong says with enough disgust in his voice that it fills Youngjo’s heart with joy. “But I mean, even still, the answer would have been no. I just want you to be _happy_ , that’s all I wanted from the start. I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way.”

“It’s really fine, you’re more upset than I am.” Youngjo pats his back comfortingly. “I think you need a glass of water.”

“You’re my best friend and you deserve everything.” Hwanwoong continues like Youngjo hasn’t said a thing, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling blankly. “Even though it kind of hurt, I really just wanted you to be happy.”

Youngjo pauses by the fridge, where he’s stumbled over to fetch two bottles of water since a bit of sobering up wouldn’t be a bad idea right now. “Hurt?”

Hwanwoong doesn’t answer, head still tilted up and looking more tired than Youngjo has ever seen him before. When Youngjo sits back down, Hwanwoong ignores the bottle of water in front of him and pours another shot, drinking it in a long pull. When he’s done, he sets it down gently, curling his knees in towards his chest with an elegance unfitting of how drunk he must be right now. Then he cocks his head slowly, cheeks glowing pink from alcohol and lips red from gnawing on them, fixes Youngjo with a half-lidded stare like he might fall asleep.

“Can I tell you something?” Hwanwoong murmurs, scratching aimlessly at his ankle.

Youngjo stares blankly back at him, nodding only when it seems like Hwanwoong is waiting for his answer. Hwanwoong laughs suddenly, looking frighteningly pretty in the blur of television light and Youngjo’s cloudy vision. “Is it pathetic that-- when I heard you had a crush on somebody, I really hoped for a second that it was me? And when it wasn’t, it was bad of me to be upset, right? Even just for a second. It was bad of me not to be happy for you.”

There are a million fires being lit in Youngjo’s brain, burning in his ears and his heart and his chest. No matter how much he tries to process it, it seems like something he’s imagined, a statement misheard and already melted away before he can question it. Because there’s just no logical way that Hwanwoong could have said it, could have looked at him all lovely and drunk and tinted blue from the screen, could have laughed and said he’d wished Youngjo had a crush on him. Not only that he wished that but that he felt bad for it, enough that he’s looking at Youngjo like he’s worn down by everything, like the alcohol is so heavy in his body that he can barely hold himself up. 

Hwanwoong blinks slowly, spurred by Youngjo’s silence and the stiffness in his posture, giving him a smile that doesn’t lift the whole way. “This is so stupid of me, this is why I don’t drink. Ugh, I’m going to be throwing up all day tomorrow.”

“You wished I had a crush on you?” Youngjo’s voice comes out gravelly, like he doesn’t believe his own words. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.” Hwanwoong sounds far away, all tinny and quiet like he’s speaking underwater. “And I shouldn’t say that to you because I know you’re still getting over Mingi but if I don’t say it now, then I don’t think I ever will. Especially because if I drink this much again, I will probably die.”

“I’m not-- I’m not getting over Mingi, I was never… under him in the first place.” Youngjo wants to pull his hair out because _what the fuck_ , what the fuck, _what the fuck_. Hwanwoong is sitting in front of him telling him that this whole time, they’ve been holding a flame for each other, and he’s been wasting his time trying to fake date Song Mingi, trying to find out how to flirt with a person who has already wanted him from the beginning of this nightmare. “You’re saying to me that you like me. You have a crush on me.”

“Yes.” Hwanwoong drags out the last letter, as if Youngjo doesn’t understand Korean, fumbling for the table. “I did. I do. Oh, I should have water.”

“Hold on.” Youngjo reaches to pin Hwanwoong’s wrist back against his thigh. “This whole time you were helping me with Mingi, you had a crush on me?”

“I said I wanted you to be happy.” Hwanwoong says slowly and it hits Youngjo like a punch to the stomach. “You know, even if it’s not with me, that’s what matters most.”

“But I _wanted_ it to be you. That’s all I wanted.” Youngo blurts out, so loudly that Hwanwoong almost startles right off the couch cushion. “I didn’t want those tips to flirt with Mingi, I wanted to flirt with you. _You_. I want you.”

This is so absolutely fucking stupid. This whole thing is perhaps the stupidest series of events Youngjo has ever had the misfortune of being a part of because he could have just had Yeo Hwanwoong from the start. Of course, there’s that scratchy feeling in the back of his head that says _you could have just confessed like your friends suggested_ but he chooses to focus on that warm feeling pooling in his stomach, the feeling that Hwanwoong had wanted him too. It’d seemed like such an impossibly far off idea, something tied to a string and lifted off to the sky where he couldn’t see it anymore. But now it’s in front of him, held in his cupped hands, sitting in line of his sight -- Yeo Hwanwoong wants him just as badly as he’d always impossibly hoped.

“Are you playing a joke on me?” Hwanwoong murmurs and Youngjo freezes up on the quiver of hurt in it. “Seriously? I know-- I’m drunk and you’re-- but that’s really…”

“I’m not, I’m not playing a joke, I’m just an idiot, I’ve _been_ this huge fucking idiot the whole time.” Youngjo tightens his grip on his wrist but Hwanwoong snatches it back like he’s been burned, cradling it to his chest. “This whole thing is just a mess with too many people involved-- and I can’t even begin to explain it-- but the thing you need to know is that I don’t give a shit about Mingi. I don’t-- I’ve been into you for months now.”

He’s prepared for anything except for what Hwanwoong does next, which is push himself off the couch and weave clumsily over bottles of alcohol and empty snack bags towards the front door. For a drunk man, he’s faster than Youngjo realizes, pawing through the shoe rack unsteadily while also pausing every few seconds to take a deep breath. Youngjo sits up but Hwanwoong whips his head around, looking strangely alert for the first time in the last hour.

“Don’t.” Hwanwoong’s voice has that hint of warning, even though it’s shaky with exhaustion and alcohol. “I don’t-- get what’s going on, I don’t understand and maybe I will when I’m sober but I know for sure that you lied to me. Didn’t you?”

Youngjo stands where he is, unable to do anything except watch Hwanwoong struggle to knot his shoe laces before throwing his hands down. “Nevermind, never-- I’m so confused and I’m probably going to puke on the sidewalk and everybody’s been lying to me then, right? You and Geonhee and Dongju and all of them.”

“Hwanwoong, let me walk you out.” Youngjo tries to take a step forward but Hwanwoong’s hand shoots out in a stop motion. “Seriously, you’re wasted.”

“I’ll get a cab. I want to be alone, I want to puke and go to bed and maybe not talk to you for a while.” Hwanwoong stands up, looking momentarily queasy before he straightens up. “I deserve that. If you can do it to me, then--”

“Okay.” Youngjo says softly, raising his palms in surrender even though he just wants to snatch Hwanwoong up and say one million apologies into his hair and fix this whole thing because the pieces were _there_ the whole time. It was all there in front of him and he stepped on it, shattered it into a million pieces. “Let me call you a taxi at least.”

“I can get one myself.” Hwanwoong wrenches the door open, nearly taking himself down over his own feet. “Just-- don’t follow me out.”

It’s the hardest thing Youngjo has ever done in his life, letting Hwanwoong walk out the door. Because the least he can do is respect the one thing he’s been asked, listening to the front door close and drifting to the window. He can see Hwanwoong on the street, blonde hair pale even against the snow on the sidewalks, watches him sway in place, bury his face into his hands, raise a shaking arm to one of the cabs loitering on the street near the student-frequented bars. He stays there, even when Hwanwoong clambers into the back seat and the car is long gone into Seoul, until his stomach rolls and then he’s bounding for the kitchen sink. 

Youngjo throws it all up, two bottles of soju and dinner and the weight of the mistake he’s just made, until his gut doesn’t feel like it’s heavy with poison anymore. It’s all he can do to spit a mouthful of water into the sink to get rid of the acidic film on his teeth and then find his way back to bed, a dirty mess of sheets where he’d been hidden earlier. It’s funny to be right back to where he started, almost something similar except the heartbreak from before seems so terrifically juvenile, especially when his mind keeps calling back the sharp flash of hurt on Hwanwoong’s face, the vulnerable tremble to his lips.

It’s a terrible, terrible thing to realize how much you can hurt only after it’s been done.


	4. i see flowers blooming before my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knots untangle themselves.
> 
> chapter title - come see me by aoa

As it turns out, there’s a feeling worse than ignoring Hwanwoong and that’s being ignored _by_ Hwanwoong. Youngjo can’t think of a day in his life where he hasn’t talked to Hwanwoong in some form, whether it be in class or texting each other bad Twitter memes for hours. This is probably how Hwanwoong felt when he did it to him, that ache in his chest each time he checks his phone for notifications and the screen is blank. It’s kind of like there’s a tiny part of Youngjo that’s missing and he’s not sure where from, only that it begins to hurt -- a subtle, aching pain -- each time he starts to forget about it. He tries to ease back into his pattern from before but it’s fucking hard to pretend like everything is just normal, to go back to making lattes without Hwanwoong stopping by between classes, sitting in literature class by himself because if Hwanwoong is even showing up, he’s hiding himself in the lecture hall where Youngjo can’t see him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know things would get this messed up.” For what it matters, Geonhee looks genuinely distressed, fiddling with his straw. “I was never sure if he liked you so I didn’t wanna spill your secret. But then he was all super supportive with the Mingi thing, so I just figured he didn’t have a crush on you.”

“It’s fine.” Youngjo murmurs, scratching tiredly at the corner of his eye because he’s been rapidly yo-yoing each night between barely sleeping and passing out for 12 hours. It’s hard to focus on anything these days, especially this lab project he’s supposed to finish with Geonhee and Seoho, which is more just him just staring at the salt and pepper shakers until somebody shakes his arm.

“It’s not, this is all our fault.” Geonhee frowns, giving Seoho a sharp elbow to the stomach when he looks close to protesting that he was nowhere involved in this.

If it’d been any time before this, Youngjo would have wholeheartedly agreed but the only truth is that there is nobody but himself to blame. He pushes away his untouched coffee, drawing his knees to his chest. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m the one who let it get to a ridiculous point in the first place.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine.” Seoho says with a smile that isn’t very convincing. “He just needs space, like you did.”

“Is he okay?” Youngjo asks even though it’s not really his right to ask that and he knows it.

Seoho and Geonhee exchange a quick glance before Geonhee clears his throat. “Well, I mean, he’s fine. He’s not but he’s-- he doesn’t really talk about it with us. You know how he is.”

Of course Youngjo knows how he is. Getting Hwanwoong to open up about the things bothering him is like trying to pull teeth -- he’s open, almost flippant about the superficial things like whining about an unfair grade or somebody in his dance team slacking. It’s the stuff underneath the surface that he’s so protective of, adept at brushing things off with a wide smile and a joke, easing into a funny story or a rumor without any of the realizing they’ve been sidetracked. It’s not like it’s Hwanwoong trying to play the martyr or create a tortured image with himself but there’s nothing he dislikes more than causing people to worry or to be additional stress on anybody. It’s no wonder that Hwanwoong had probably clammed up about this, pulling tightly into himself so as not to burden anybody else with it.

“I want to fix this but there’s nothing I can _do_.” Youngjo whacks his head against the table, burrowing into his arms. “He doesn’t want to see me and I don’t blame him at all.”

Seoho pats his elbow awkwardly. “Hwanwoong just needs a bit of space.”

“There’s so much I need to explain though and I’m worried if there’s too much time,” Youngjo lifts his chin an inch, “then I’ll miss my chance to salvage even a bit of this friendship.”

Geonhee chews on his lower lip, pushing away his laptop. “How opposed are you to hearing another suggestion from us?”

Youngjo blinks tiredly. “Does it have origins from Geonhak?”

“This is a Geonhee original.”

“Then I guess I have nothing to lose.” He sighs, propping his cheek against his palm.

“You should just stop by his place. I mean, didn’t Hwanwoong do the same thing when you were being a bitch and giving him the silent treatment?” Geonhee raises a finger to stop Youngjo from objecting (although, truthfully, he was being a bitch). “But didn’t it mean a lot that he was so desperate to make sure you were okay that he took it into his hands to come over? Like… maybe don’t just break into his place because you should probably respect the fact that he doesn’t want to see your dumb ass. But you could at least stop by and knock on the door or something. Knowing him, he’ll probably feel sorry for this stupid teary puppy-eye thing you have going on.”

Ignoring all the names he’d been called in that, the suggestion does have some worth. There’s a sliver of hope in knocking on Hwanwoong’s door and hoping that having Youngjo right there will make him want to talk. And if he doesn’t, Youngjo is at least (contrary to what his friends think) not a big enough asshole to let himself inside when Hwanwoong doesn’t want to see him. If that ends up being the case, it’ll hurt like hell and Youngjo will have to start accepting that their friendship has moved into the realm of the unfixable, pieced back together but with cracks that can’t be filled. He can try, though, to stop it from getting there.

“Dance practice is cancelled tonight because of studio maintenance so I bet Hwanwoong is probably going to stay in. You could stop by then.” Seoho balls up a napkin in his fist, lobbing it lightly at Youngjo’s eye. “Cheer up. Things will be fine -- I mean, you’re Youngjo and Hwanwoong. If there was a way to surgically attach people by the hip, you two would have done it already.”

It’s those exact words of encouragement that have Youngjo in front of Hwanwoong’s dorm room that evening, rocking back and forth on his tennis shoes and wondering why the fuck he ever listened to Geonhee and Seoho in the first place. Everybody’s ideas seem so good until they’re put into practice, such as right now as Youngjo tries to think of the least awkward and burdensome way to knock and say he’s dropped by uninvited. He really should have brought something like pizza, so Hwanwoong would be enticed by the prospect of free food -- and if he got rejected, Youngjo could have just sadly wolfed it down in the comfort of his own bed. He shifts again uneasily, trying to figure out how to not look like a sadly hunched cryptid through the peephole on Hwanwoong’s door when the lock on it suddenly clicks and then Youngjo is no longer imagining Hwanwoong but actually looking at him.

It seems impossible but Hwanwoong must have gotten even smaller since they last saw each other. Or at least it looks that way, his petite frame burrowed in an extra large sweater and his pajama pants pooling over his feet so Youngjo can only see the tips of his fuzzy purple house socks. Youngjo is now extremely endeared on top of incredibly stressed out and it’s making his head empty of all thoughts except how red Hwanwoong’s eyes are behind his glasses and how much of a mess his hair is and how much Youngjo really just wants to gather him up in a hug. Hwanwoong clearly feels the exact opposite, taking a step back and dabbing at his face self-consciously with the hem of his sleeve.

“What are you doing here?” He sounds hoarse, already moving to close the door a few inches between them.

“I was going to knock.” Youngjo says meekly, watching the door close another centimeter. “I promise, I wasn’t going to let myself in unless you wanted me to come in. I can go-- you know what, I’ll go.”

Hwanwoong stares at him through tired, lidded eyes before opening the door with a sigh that sounds bone deep with exhaustion. “You can stay until my food is here. I thought you were the delivery man pacing around outside.”

Youngjo mutters an embarrassed _thank you_ , slipping off his shoes and following Hwanwoong into the kitchen. It’s messier than Youngjo ever remembers seeing it, mugs ringed with coffee stains in the sink, an oil slicked pan sitting on the stove, and the table covered in school papers, empty soda cans, and what looks to be a half-eaten orange. He wonders if Hwanwoong had felt this worried when he’d seen the way Youngjo had stopped taking care of himself, had felt it like a fist closing around his heart. Probably not this painfully because unlike Hwanwoong, only Youngjo is to blame for all of this, for the way Hwanwoong slumps into the chair across from him and draws his knees in tightly. He’s not used to the silence either since Hwanwoong’s voice almost always fills the space between them, bright and bouncy, neither of which he is right now.

“I’m not really sure where to start.” Youngjo swallows but even that turns out to be the absolute wrong first thing to say, based on the way Hwanwoong’s expression darkens. “I didn’t do anything on purpose. You know I would never-- not to anybody but especially to you, I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.”

“I know you.” Hwanwoong says after a beat, examining his pale fingers quietly.

“You know I’m an idiot.” He tries to elicit a smile, a frown, anything but Hwanwoong’s face remains just as slack and unreadable as before.

“Yeah, you are.” Hwanwoong lets one leg slide off the chair, socked foot hitting the ground. “Listen, I need to--”

“Just give me... just one more minute.” Youngjo must sound breathless because Hwanwoong eases back into his seat reluctantly. “I’m not trying to give an excuse for anything but I did all this stupid shit because I was too scared to tell you upfront that I have a crush on you-- I was just worried I’d lose you as a friend but that was pointless, I guess, since I kind of managed to do that anyway.”

Hwanwoong’s head tilts just a centimeter but it’s enough of a response for Youngjo to keep going. “I just got so desperate to make something happen and all of our friends were bugging me so much about telling you-- it honestly seemed like a rational idea for like the first ten seconds until it immediately backfired.”

Hwanwoong pauses from where he’s chewing impatiently on his thumbnail. “And what exactly was this idea?”

“Dongju and Geonhee only said I liked Mingi because you overheard them talking about my crush and, granted, they were trying to save my ass. So when you asked me about it, all I could think was something Geonhak said to me earlier,” Youngjo grimaces when he sees Hwanwoong’s eyebrows lift. “Yeah, I know.”

“You must have been really fucking desperate to take advice from him.” Maybe it’s his imagination but Youngjo thinks he hears it, just the slightest bit of humor in Hwanwoong’s voice.

“At the time, it sounded like a good idea.” He picks at a stray thread off his shirt so he won’t have to look at Hwanwoong when he says it. “To ask your help with flirting so I could figure out how-- to flirt with _you_.”

“Wow.” Hwanwoong drops his hand from his mouth, dragging the word out in what Youngjo knows is barely concealed disbelief. “ _Wow_.”

And then, the proverbial cherry on top, Hwanwoong gives him a pained half-smile and says, “You absolute idiot.”

He doesn’t like seeing that smile on Hwanwoong’s face, twisted and hurt and vulnerable, but it’s better than the careful, empty expression he’s been held the whole time. It’s like a tiny crack in the door, an entrance opened but just barely, enough that Youngjo thinks he can work with this. It’s the first time in the last few days that he’s felt he can actually make things right for once.

“I am an idiot. I did a lot of idiotic things for you.” Youngjo spreads his palm on the table, wishes he could slide it across and hold Hwanwoong’s hand. “I complimented Mingi’s ugly ass shirt and pretended I was the one who sent him weirdly horny Kakaotalk emojis -- I spent hours alone with Mingi listening to him talk about how much he liked you and acting like I didn’t want to put my head straight through a window. I’m not trying to make it sound like the stupid things I did for you were admirable but they came from a place of just being so overwhelming-- wanting to be with you so bad that I’d do anything.”

“You’re right.” Hwanwoong’s voice is quiet, feeling out his next words. “It’s not admirable at all, it’s kind of pathetic. Especially the shirt part. Youngjo, it was really fucking ugly.”

“It was.” Youngjo tries a smile and Hwanwoong tries one back, just barely a curl at the corner of his lips. “You have no idea how painful that was for me.”

To Youngjo’s relief, Hwanwoong has unfurled the tightness in his shoulders just slightly, eyes softened around the edges. “Hearing you say you’d do anything to be with me is all it would have taken. I can’t imagine anyone ever liking me that much-- especially you. Especially somebody I feel the same way about.”

“You’d do anything to be with me?” Youngjo pauses on the last word because it filters through his brain slowly, like his mind can’t quite pick apart the idea of it.

“I would have done anything.” Hwanwoong’s eyes drop to the table and Youngjo thinks his heart might be on fire, sparks hot in his chest. “I liked you so much. I still like you. Does that make me the idiot?”

“Maybe.” He says in complete honesty and Hwanwoong laughs, slow and tired and still beautiful enough to make Youngjo’s breath stop for a second. “Still not as bad as me.”

“I always had a feeling but I’d get too scared. Because if I was wrong and I told you, then I’d lose everything at once.” Hwanwoong fiddles with his piercing, fingers moving nervously across the moon-shaped earring. “I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you.”

“I never said a thing either because I thought I’d lose you too.” Youngjo looks at him and for the first time that night, Hwanwoong holds his gaze just as steadily. “So we’re not idiots, just cowards who cared too much about staying in each other’s lives.”

“No, you’re a coward and an idiot. I’m just a coward.” Hwanwoong makes a noise between a shaky breath and a giggle, scrubbing at his face with the hem of his sweater. “I just wish you hadn’t… gone this far to get here. I wish there didn’t have to be a mess in the first place.”

“I’m so sorry. I let my insecurities fuck everything up and I can’t… go back and fix hurting you. But I can make sure it never happens again, if you’ll let me. I think we could make this work into-- something. Something really great.” He feels one thousand pounds lighter after saying it, the apology that had been sitting in his chest, crushing his lungs for days now. “And if you can’t, that’s okay. It really is.”

The last sentence settles in the space between them like a wall and at this point, Youngjo doesn’t know if Hwanwoong is willing to climb it, to take the risk that something will catch him on the other side. All he can do is hope that Hwanwoong can smell the desperation on him, see it in the white knuckled way he holds his hands and the steel to his eyes. Hwanwoong, on the other hand, remains unreadable as he traces circles with his finger in thought. 

It’s an unbearable few minutes of watching him hunch over the table before Hwanwoong flattens his hand on the table and tilts his head up tiredly.“I’ve thought a lot about this a lot over the last few days. Just-- us. What might happen and what I’d do if you came to me like this. And it took me a lot of shit to wade through to figure this out, to figure out that I know you and I know who you are and so I know-- I can trust you when you say you wouldn’t hurt me again.”

Something about that hits far harder than an _I love you_ because he’s never thought about it before, how different it is to trust somebody than to love them, how powerful it is to have both. He thinks about his parents, how much he loves them but how he shields parts of his life from him, the little nooks within his personality that he’s simply come to terms with not sharing. There’s not a single thing like that for Hwanwoong and that’s such an exhilarating thing to say, to be in love with the one person he could also lay everything out for, even the pieces he wants to hide away. And the way Hwanwoong looks at him right now, vulnerable and exposed and not a bit terrified of being that way, tells Youngjo that he feels the same.

“I trust you too. I’d trust you with anything.” Youngjo feels it knot in his stomach, tighter when Hwanwoong stares back reverently in a way that says _I know_. Just like that, the space between them seems to pop like a bubble, far more fragile than the wall Youngjo had thought it was earlier. Now the most painful thing is the distance, wanting to just grab Hwanwoong and close the space between them.

As if he feels a pull, Hwanwoong leans forward in his chair, eyes red but far lighter than earlier. “You know… I just have a hard time believing you didn’t know I was into you. I literally sleep with my face on your thigh.”

“You’re the most affectionate person I know.” Youngjo grins, a bit wobbly and still unsure. “I thought you did that to everybody.”

“Hugs, hand holding? Yeah. But I would not put my face even a foot near any of our friends’ dicks. Only you.” Hwanwoong’s nose wrinkles in disgust and it’s so cute and charming that Youngjo could almost forget the part about him being perfectly enthusiastic about resting his head inches away from his dick. Almost.

Youngjo feels it then, a need to test the water between them now. He means to dip his toe in the water but the caveman part of his brain launches him into the lake face-first and fumbling. It’s out before he can stop himself, his heart far more desperate and fast than self-control can keep up. “How do you feel about kissing me then?” 

To his credit, Hwanwoong looks more amused by the question than surprised, blinking slowly before tilting his head in a particularly feline manner like he’s quietly sizing up what he wants to do next. Youngjo expects a laugh, maybe a follow-up question, but Hwanwoong just pushes himself off the chair quietly, padding over the kitchen tiles. The first thing Youngjo registers is that Hwanwoong is in front of him and the second is that he’s easing into his lap with the same effortless grace as his dancing. 

Once he’s settled comfortably on Youngjo’s thighs, which just about gives him an aneurysm, Hwanwoong slips off his glasses and tosses them onto the table with a pleased sigh. “ _Now_ you can kiss me.”

It’s funny how easily they fall into each other once they finally have the chance; the way Youngjo’s hands slide under Hwanwoong’s shirt to rest on the tender curve of his hips, how Hwanwoong’s fingers curl feather-light around the line of his jaw and pull their lips down to meet halfway. He’s having a hard time imagining how he’s gone 24 years without this, the weight of Hwanwoong in his lap and pressing in on him, so tightly that he swears he can hear the faint pulse of his heart. And then Hwanwoong kisses him, lips chapped and mouth hot and hands eagerly slipping down to fist Youngjo’s shirt and steady himself on his thigh. They’re not perfect right away, Hwanwoong’s teeth sinking into his lower lip a bit too hard and Youngjo nearly losing his grip on him but it’s better than anything he’s ever had in his life.

Youngjo pulls back an inch when he hears a sharp knock on the door, Hwanwoong’s breath warm on his cheek. “I think that’s your delivery ma--”

“Shut up.” Hwanwoong says sweetly, nosing along his neck, up to press a soft kiss to the corner of Youngjo’s mouth when he makes a muffled noise of protest. “He can keep my fried chicken.”

Youngjo turns his head when there’s another knock, Hwanwoong’s fingers yanking his chin back into place. “Do you want me to get the door or keep kissing you?”

“Alright, understood.” Youngjo pants against Hwanwoong’s thumb swiping over his lip, drawing him back against his mouth.

The second time Hwanwoong tugs him in by his collar, it’s like they’ve gotten all the kinks worked out, the practice round done and over. Because the way Hwanwoong licks into his mouth makes Youngjo see stars, makes his fingers dig bruises into Hwanwoong’s waist and elicit a soft moan in the back of his throat. It’s the prettiest thing he’s heard in his life and he digs his nails in a bit harder, just to hear it, that whimpered noise Hwanwoong makes against his lips. He drags his hands down, presses them into the dimples of his back and Hwanwoong gasps, yanking back with a palm dangerously high on Youngjo’s thigh to keep from toppling off.

“You better stop because I do not fuck on the first date.” Hwanwoong looks wrecked already, flushed high in his cheeks and lips swollen in that pretty, messed up way. Youngjo tries to ignore how that thought knots tightly in his stomach because he hadn’t even thought that far ahead and now it’s the only thing he can think about, slipping his hands down Hwanwoong’s back just a little bit more.

“Do you consider this a first date?” Youngjo rasps, rubbing circles into his skin.

“No.” Hwanwoong protests, tongue sliding over his lower lip in a way that they both know is driving Youngjo haywire. “I’d hope your idea of a date is at least some wine and dine.”

“If this is how you put out before a date, then I can’t even think about what you’ll do once I take you out properly.”

Hwanwoong creeps his fingers along the back of his neck, plays teasingly with the soft hair there. “I’m not a prude. You’ll at least get a blow job out of it.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Hwanwoong.” He hisses desperately between his teeth and Hwanwoong laughs, high and pretty, attaching himself to Youngjo’s mouth again. It’s a bit slower this time, a little more careful like they’re feeling each other out, all the things they didn’t notice in the urgency of before. Youngjo always thought Hwanwoong, impossibly tiny and lovely, would fit perfectly against him and he _does_ , two pieces slotted perfectly into place. The thought of it makes him breathless, enough that he has to detach from Hwanwoong far sooner than he wants to, feeling his warm breath fanning across his cheek.

“I wish I’d known we were going to make out.” Hwanwoong whines, lashes fluttering across the bridge of Youngjo’s nose as he shifts to sit up. “I would have washed my hair. But I haven’t in like three days because, you know--”

“Yes, because I’m an idiot.” Youngjo cups his jaw, face warming when Hwanwoong kisses his palm playfully. “If it helps, this is literally the sexiest you’ve ever looked to me.”

“ _Youngjo_.” Hwanwoong burrows his face shyly into the crook of Youngjo’s shoulder. “I’ve been wearing these pajamas for almost a week straight.”

“Oh, _racy_. I love it when you talk dirty.” Youngjo purrs, stroking along the notches of Hwanwoong’s back, feeling him laugh against his neck. There’s nothing he could ever want more than this and he has it, everything he’s ever needed bundled tightly into his arms. Like he knows, Hwanwoong lifts his gaze with such vulnerability that it lights Youngjo’s heart on fire, bright and hot. It burns down to his fingers, that feeling of having Hwanwoong like this now and into the future; it burns so brightly that Youngjo doesn’t even have to look as he moves to kiss him again because Hwanwoong finds him, the press of his lips like moth to flame.

\-----

“I’ve made a huge mistake.” Geonhak sets down his fork, looking queasy. “Can you two stop? I’m trying to eat a salad.”

He pauses before picking up his notebook, hurling it at Youngjo’s face with the hope of detaching it from Hwanwoong’s. “Stop making out for _two_ seconds, we’re in public. Where’s your shame?”

Youngjo yanks back from Hwanwoong’s mouth, spluttering and pawing at where he’s sure Geonhak’s notebook has taken out a chunk of his eyebrow. “You didn’t have to throw it!”

Hwanwoong, on the other hand, looks perfectly undisturbed as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “I don’t know why you’re so upset, this is your fault in the first place.”

“I know, I know. I should have rationed my love advice but I got too cocky. Flew too close to the sun.” Geonhak blinks mournfully up at the plaster ceiling of the cafeteria, looking back down to see Youngjo and Hwanwoong already reattached. “ _Seriously_?”

“There are children here.” Geonhee hisses, patting Dongju’s arm like a protective mother. Dongju, on the other hand, seems to have not noticed anything except adding a frog hat to his big-eyed Animal Crossing villager with the same concentration as brain surgery. Nonetheless, Youngjo pulls back with one last peck to Hwanwoong’s hair, tugging him in closer by his shoulders. Really, he doesn’t think he can get used to this whole dating Hwanwoong thing -- it always seems like something he’s dreamed up, that will be shaken off along with the mist of sleep over his head. And then Hwanwoong will stir next to him, one eyelid stuck closed and mewling out something like _babe, what time is it_ as he curls in closer and Youngjo remembers with a startle that Hwanwoong is very much his boyfriend.

As if he knows his name is running through Youngjo’s head, Hwanwoong squeezes his knee affectionately. “I have dance tonight so I won’t be back until late. Do you want me to bring back dinner or are you good?”

They’ve started living out of each other’s apartments like they’re on vacation, one week packed into Hwanwoong’s miniscule twin bed and learning how to have sex without accidentally falling out, the next week in Youngjo’s place where Hwanwoong raids his wardrobe and spends the next few days drowning cutely in his oversized shirts. They’ve already begun looking at apartments for the next semester but for now, their frazzled domesticity works, even if it confuses the hell out of Sunny. Youngjo loves to hear Hwanwoong talk about little things like this, his plans for the night and what they’ll do for dinner and all the mundane stuff that is suddenly romantic as soon as it comes out of Hwanwoong’s mouth.

“You’re going to be too tired to do anything after practice. I’ll just get us take-out.” Youngjo tilts his head, stroking Hwanwoong’s hip affectionately. “Stir-fried pork?”

“I love you.” Hwanwoong deadpans, tugging Youngjo down by his shirt to give him a kiss. Geonhee groans from across the table, shoving away his tray of half-eaten food.

“You two are so nasty.” He wails, flopping against Seoho. “If I have to see your tongues down each other’s throats again, I’m going to puke.”

“Nobody is making you look.” Hwanwoong blinks patiently, reaching to steal a radish from Geonhee’s plate and crunching down on it like a rabbit. “You could always mind your own business.”

“Not minding his own business is the only thing that gives him purpose.” Seoho says, gently shrugging Geonhee off and returning to his meal with gusto. Geonhee opens his mouth widely, looking ready to protest (even though it’s absolutely correct) before he pinches it closed again, eyes focused on the space behind Geonhak’s head.

“Nobody turn around but Mingi just walked in and-- can you _stop_ touching Hwanwoong’s ass for one second? Have some decency.” Geonhee hisses, scrubbing at his face desperately.

Truthfully, Mingi probably doesn’t care, just like he hadn’t seemed to care much about getting turned down by Hwanwoong or looking over in their literature class to find Youngjo and Hwanwoong stealing a kiss between the professor’s lecture slides. In fact, he’d taken it in stride as if Youngjo hadn’t absolutely lied about not being into Hwanwoong and then promptly dating him, unquestioning about the whole thing. Youngjo feels like Mingi has probably been the most sane person out of this whole mess even if he was an unwitting and undeserving scapegoat for most of their blame. He’s tried to make it up subtly by always having extra change for Mingi to buy canned coffee and kicking his ankle when the professor notices he’s passed out at his desk.

“He’s fine, trust me. Mingi’s tall friend looks at him in that same pathetic puppy way Youngjo used to look at Hwanwoong.” Dongju mutters, eliciting an _ew_ from the table and a smitten _aw_ from only Hwanwoong. “I give it a week before they’re also going to be feeling each other up in the cafeteria.”

Hwanwoong laughs next to him, threading their fingers together and giving them a hard squeeze. He knows they’re thinking the same thing, how strange it was to be in the limbo between friendship and attraction, the way it feels like the deepest, most thrilling breath of air the moment the line is stepped over. Hwanwoong’s eyes dart up to Youngjo’s, mouth curled up impishly with a rise of his eyebrows. “I can only hope they have a much smoother process than us.”

“Given that his friends are actual functioning human beings that have more than two braincells, they’ll be fine.” Seoho mutters through a mouthful of rice, hacking half of it up when both Geonhak and Geonhee elbow him in the ribs. “My _lungs_!”

Hwanwoong’s smile only grows wider, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch like an affectionate cat as Youngjo’s tucks a stray piece of hair behind his glasses. He presses a kiss there, against the shell of Hwanwoong’s ear and feels him preen, squeeze his hand a bit tighter. Just like that, Youngjo realizes in a daze, as Hwanwoong looks up at him with all the affection in the world, that he’s accidentally fallen in love all over again and for once, it’s perfectly fine.

 _Above everything, just be true to your feelings. It’s always worth the risk_.

\-----

_[ “When did you first realize you liked me?” Youngjo asks against the smooth curve of Hwanwoong’s neck, feeling the muscles tense there before relaxing against the kiss pressed to his skin. Hwanwoong shifts under him, tangling their legs together playfully, practically purring at Youngjo’s mouth on his collarbone._

_“Me?” Hwanwoong murmurs, carding fingers through Youngjo’s hair thoughtfully. They’ve been like this all day, the first day of summer vacation spent in Youngjo’s bed with the sheets kicked off the bed and the window open to air out the stagnant humidity of his room. Youngjo thinks he could live the rest of his life like this, trying to beat the heat by alternating warm afternoon cat naps with lazy sex; waking up from sleep and feeling out Hwanwoong next to him, pulling him in all pliant and whiny and melting under his fingers. Hwanwoong makes a humming noise like he’s thinking hard, palm sliding down to press hot against Youngjo’s cheek._

_“There was one time when I told you I wasn’t feeling well before class but I still had to go for a quiz, do you remember that? I had a flu bug.” Hwanwoong’s eyes roll up to the ceiling, half-lidded like a tired cat as he strokes the curve of Youngjo’s jaw. “And when I showed up for class, you brought me barley tea with honey and those daytime meds that don’t make me fall asleep and those tissues with the lotion in them. You remembered all the things I probably mentioned liking once and maybe you even asked my friends but I just… all I kept thinking was that I’d be lucky to date a guy like you. And then I started thinking that it should be you because you were this hot, nice, caring guy. I just wanted you from there.”_

_“You were smitten.” Youngjo teases, falling back on the pillows and dragging him closer by his hips. Hwanwoong laughs in surprise, muffled by a kiss pressed to his mouth. “And you’re right, I texted Seoho because I didn’t know what pills you usually take.”_

_“You cared so much, how could I not be?” Hwanwoong tucks himself under Youngjo’s chin, a perfect fit against his chest. “What about me? How did you know you liked me?”_

_Youngjo has always said that he didn’t know the exact moment that he fell for Hwanwoong, that one day he'd woken up and that had been that, head over heels without time to orient himself. The reality is that even if he hadn’t noticed it until then, it had been a slow build under the surface, months of a fire being stoked by bright smiles and gentle touches to his wrist and Hwanwoong leaning it close, smelling like apple shampoo. Truthfully, there had been a moment when Youngjo had looked at Hwanwoong and suddenly felt that his heart was going to pop right through his chest, break his ribs and suck the air out of his lungs. There’d been nothing monumental about it, just sneaking himself in the back of the dance studio with an iced coffee and waiting for Hwanwoong’s practice to end so they could grab dinner. Hwanwoong hadn’t been dancing, pausing to take a water break and dab away the sweat from the back of his neck. Dongju had followed, stealing his water bottle to drain it and murmuring under the hum of the Sevyn Streeter song playing through the speakers._

_Dongju had seen Youngjo in the reflection of the mirror, tilting his head down towards Hwanwoong’s ear to whisper something inaudible from the back of the room. Then Hwanwoong had turned around, eyes wide and searching, settling on Youngjo and the smile he’d given -- Youngjo can still conjure it from memory, how much it had knocked the air out of him. There’d been a pink flush in Hwanwoong’s cheeks and his blonde hair gone dark on his forehead with sweat and despite the exhausted slump to his body, he’d smiled so blindingly like sunlight. All he could think was that he wanted Hwanwoong to look at him like that all the time, to be something that made him happy enough to beam like that even through the post-exercise haze of fatigue. He hadn’t been able to articulate what that meant at that moment, to feel like a fist had closed around his heart when Hwanwoong had sought him out so eagerly. It’d only been afterwards when he’d tried to sleep and found it impossible, his mind running circles around the image of Hwanwoong’s face lit up like a star at only him, that he’d been able to articulate it. It’d been falling in love, the feeling of needing to be the only one Hwanwoong looked at like that. It gave him a slightly nauseous feeling like he’d fallen off the edge of something and just kept tumbling down, almost wishing there was ground for him to hit._

_But there’s something about that moment he wants to keep, locking it up and pressing it into the very deepest corner of his head. Even if he tried to explain it, he’s not sure Hwanwoong would get it, whining about how there’s no way it’d been after he’d sweat buckets and looked like a drowned rat. It makes perfect sense to Youngjo though, just to him, and so he keeps it for himself and makes a show of giving Hwanwoong’s question plenty of thought._

_“Not really.” Youngjo shrugs and Hwanwoong huffs against his chest in disbelief. “Seriously. I think you just… over time, I started looking at you a different way and by the time I realized what it meant, I was in too deep.”_

_“Poetic.” Hwanwoong nips at his clavicle, peeling away from him. Youngjo pulls him right back, slipping a hand under the arch of his back to spread his palm over the flatness of Hwanwoong’s stomach, stroking the skin there. He could marvel at Hwanwoong’s body all day, petite and tight and the perfect size for everything, for Youngjo hold him and press into him and keep him close even when it’s too hot to be skin on skin. His thumb dips over the jut of Hwanwoong’s pelvic bone, over his navel, elicits a soft little whimper of surprise._

_“Stop, you’re going to get me--” Hwanwoong sighs, interrupted with Youngjo’s lips on his, soft and seeking._

_“I know.” Youngjo hums into his mouth mischievously, feels the way Hwanwoong shifts to let him closer, to let himself be taken in. “You’re too easy to get riled up.”_

_“You’re too hard to resist.” Hwanwoong pouts, cute even when he’s got his leg hooked around Youngjo’s waist and melting back into the mattress. Youngjo kisses him quiet, hopes that Hwanwoong can’t hear the meteor crash of him violently, passionately, suddenly falling in love all over again.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!!! it's done!!!!! yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me and i hope you enjoyed the fic even just a little bit. i hope i can return back soon with some more writing!
> 
> as always, i'm @sapphichwa on twitter. please feel free to say hi!
> 
> and thank you again <3_<3


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